A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

The Reach was a pleasant land, the landscape shifting gradually as they rode, leaving behind the forests and rains of the Stormlands to find a country of rolling fields and rivers. If not for the circumstances of their coming, Steve thought it might be a nice place to visit.

At the edge of a frolicsome woodland, hidden amongst the trees, Steve surveyed the target before him. Atop a nearby hill, there was a holdfast, a motte and bailey. The walls of the keep on the hill were of stone, as was the small keep, but there was only a palisade wall around the bailey on the lower ground, protecting perhaps a dozen buildings. It was the first fortification they had encountered since entering the Reach three days ago, though they had bypassed several villages that seemed unaware of the greater threats growing around them. This holdfast though, it was on guard, two men at the gates of the bailey and another on watch atop the keep itself, silhouette just visible in the mid afternoon sun. In the fields around it, smallfolk went about their chores, unaware of what awaited them.

“Not the hardest nut to crack,” Walt murmured to his right. He had his forearm braced against a tree, holding his weight as he leaned.

“If there’s more than ten men-at-arms and the knightly lord there I’ll be shocked,” Henry said, on Walt’s other side. Short cropped brown hair was hidden by an armet helm, and his slightly round face was optimistic as he beheld the target.

“Still enough to hold the keep long enough to be a nuisance,” Erik, a lean man who had fought under Walt in the Stepstones said. At Steve’s left, he scratched at his growing ginger stubble.

“Do we need the keep?” Humfrey asked beside him. The scar over his left eye had well and truly healed now, but still it tugged his eye into a slight squint.

“If the granaries are in it, we will,” Osric said. He had been blond and gangly when they had first met, but now he had the muscles to match his frame. He was halfway up the tree that Steve was leaning against.

“Some of their stock will be,” Walt said. “If that caravan we saw earlier wasn’t a one off, they won’t have the room otherwise.”

The caravan had been five wagons, tops covered by canvas, but with some kind of wheat or gain peeking out the edges. Three knights and fifteen men had guarded it, and each wagon had a driver.

“Hopefully it wasn’t,” Steve said.

“More to burn,” Erik said, crooked grin revealing a missing tooth.

“It would mean this is the last point for resupply for Reach forces marching into the Stormlands, too,” Steve added. “Given the distance to Storm’s End…” He did some quick maths. “It makes sense.”

“Raze it to the ground then?” Walt asked.

Steve looked away from a pair of children helping their mother in the field outside the bailey wall, glancing at Walt. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Be easier,” Walt said. He didn’t sound like he cared.

“Maybe,” Steve said. “But the people living here don’t deserve it, and we can achieve our objective without it. Henry, what is our goal here?”

“Destruction of supplies that will aid the Reach army in their advance, ser,” Henry said promptly. Every man in the company was well aware of Steve’s intent in the region, courtesy of the talks he would have with them over the days of travel.

“Osric, what does that include?” Steve asked.

Osric started, before he answered, still unused to being part of such things. “Uh, granaries, root cellars, livestock.”

“What about looting?” Steve asked. “Humfrey.”

“Forbidden unless it’s war material,” the bald man said. “Stolen personal items will result in three time’s the worth of the item docked from ya pay and given to the victim,” he recited.

“And why’s that? Erik.”

“Cause it’ll weigh us down and get us killed,” Erik said. “And it’s dishonourable,” he tacked on.

“Good,” Steve said, approving. The men had turned in to face him over the course of the questioning, and they straightened at his words. “I want you to remind your squads before we head on in.”

Nods and ayes were his answer.

“How we gonna do this then?” Walt asked. “They’ve got a good vantage, and they’ll see us coming down the road as soon as we round these woods.”

“With speed,” Steve decided. “I’ll lead the charge. We’ll secure our objectives, see to any injuries, and be on our way.”

“Hard and fast,” Henry said, nodding.

“Just like me visit to tha brothel,” Erik said.

The others snorted, and Steve raised his eyes heavenwards. “Any questions?” he asked.

“What about surrenders?” Osric asked. He swallowed as eyes turned to him.

“Accept them if they’re given, heck, ask for them if you like,” Steve said. “It’s the supplies we’re after, not the few men guarding their homes here. Just be careful.”

Osric nodded, more at ease now.

“Anything else?”

“No Captain,” came the answers.

“Head back and ready your squads,” Steve ordered. “Remember your checklists.”

Some nodded, some bowed, Humfrey touched his knuckle to his brow, but all turned to make their way back through the trees to where the rest of the company was waiting. Maybe he needed to introduce a proper salute.

“Walt,” Steve said, and the grizzled man slowed to join him at the back of the group, looking at him in question. “‘Raze it to the ground’?” he questioned quietly.

Walt shrugged. “I know you don’t like it, and so do they, but now they’ve got it fresh in their minds. Yeh gotta be clear about that shit.”

“So long as we’re on the same page,” Steve said.

“Stepstones were different,” Walt said, rubbing at his chin. His helm he had left on his horse. “Only ones caught in the middle there was the pirates. Can’t say I mind you wanting to leave the smallfolk alone.”

The trek through the forest felt faster on the way back, and soon they reached the company, waiting for them in the shade of the trees. The horses were grazing, and they had a calmness to them that the men lacked, keyed up and eager as they were, though in Redbloom’s case that was probably down to the absence of Bill the mule. Quiet conversations stopped and all eyes turned to Steve and the squad leaders that had scouted with him as they emerged from the forest. He let them go to their men, sharing what they had spoken of. He met Keladry’s eyes as she fed her horse Malorie an apple, and returned her nod.

When he judged that word had been spread, he whistled for Fury, and the white destrier trotted over to him, allowing him to spring up into the saddle. The warhorse bore the weight of him and his armour without complaint, and he looked to his men. They were all watching him, waiting.

“You know what the target is,” Steve told them. “Henry, you and your squad will follow me through the gate and to the motte. Walt, Erik, you and yours will work with Keladry’s squad to secure the bailey once we’re in. Humfrey, Osric, you are to seek out the food stores in the bailey. Take what we need to replenish our supplies, destroy the rest.” He turned his gaze on Naerys and those with her. “Yorick,” he said to the final squad leader, “you and your men will protect the noncombatants. If an enemy force arrives, you’ll join us in the holdfast, but otherwise remain outside.”

The knight’s mouth turned down in a slight grimace, but he bowed his head nonetheless.

“This will be a rotating duty, dependent on the engagement,” Steve said. He let out a breath. He had trained them as best he could in the time he had, and forged them into one force the best he knew how. “This is not a mighty fortress, or a large army. You are better trained than them, and better armed.” He swept his gaze across the crowd. “This is not an excuse to get yourself killed. You treat the enemy with respect, you protect the soldier next to you, and we all ride out in one piece. Remember my expectations. Remember my demands. Understood?”

“Aye Captain!”

“Good. Mount up. It’s time to go to work.”

X

The thunder of hoofbeats filled the air as Steve led the company down the road, dust rising in their wake. Robin was at his right with his bow, and Ren at his left with his banner. They kept to an easy trot as they rounded the edge of the forest and the holdfast came into view, wind in their faces and the sun shining down on them.

A bell began to ring frantically from the keep, tolling out over the fields, and Steve saw the moment where the smallfolk realised what was coming. Panic spread as they dropped their tools, fleeing for the transient safety of the village walls. One side of the gates was closed, the other held open for those fleeing, but it would be tight.

Steve raised his horn to his lips, the prize from Harrenhal, and blew. The dirge rang out over the once tranquil fields, and he touched his heels to Fury’s flanks. The trot became a canter, and he checked the straps on his shield one last time. The smith had done a decent job in attaching a steel plate to round out the shattered weapon, but it was a stark contrast to the red white and blue of it, and it was an ugly thing.

Ahead, a small form tumbled from the cover of half grown wheat, stumbling as they fled along the road towards the walls. A guard at the gate was shouting, exhorting him onwards, but there was no chance that the child could outrun the horses. Blind panic seemed to be his only guide as he ran down the road, no thought of hiding or running to the side occurring to him. Steve leaned forward in his saddle, and Fury responded to his intent, breaking into a gallop. The guard at the gate stopped shouting, but only because he had been forced to wrestle back a woman trying to get out and past him. The other half of the gate began to close. They were nearly there.

As the first ranks reached the running child, Steve leaned down and seized him by the back of his shirt, plucking him off the ground and depositing him in the saddle before him. The boy screamed in fright and struggled, but a hand on his shoulder stilled him. There was no time to reassure him, and then they were at the gate.

Fury sent a guard flying as he bulled through the narrow opening, screaming a whinny. Robin was right behind him, twisting in the saddle to shoot a man on the wall before he could loose his own arrow at Steve, while Ren beat another with her flagpole. The gates, almost closed, were being pushed open by Henry’s men, allowing more troops to stream into the bailey. Further into the village, Steve met the eyes of a man in plate, sword in hand. His expression was torn between despair and determination, and he was shouting at the smallfolk and guards around him, waving them back towards the keep. They were streaming up the raised stairs that led up the motte, and Steve made to pursue them when movement to the side caught his eye.

A woman was cowering by the walls, trying not to be seen by any of the soldiers entering her home, and she froze as she met Steve’s eyes, but then she saw the boy he had with him, and an altogether different expression took over. Terrified fury filled her, and she looked ready to charge him.

“Ser, the motte?” Henry shouted over the growing clamour.

“A moment!” Steve said, nudging Fury towards the woman. He took the child up by the back of his shirt again, holding him out to her like a particularly wriggly sack of potatoes.

The woman snatched him in both arms, pale with fear and shrinking away, holding the boy protectively.

“Ortys!” Steve called. The big man, one of Keladry’s squad, looked over to him. “Protect this woman! If more have been caught out, gather them by the well!”

“Aye Captain!” Ortys answered.

“On me!” Steve ordered, and Fury surged through the village, past the well in the centre and towards the stairs that led up to the keep. Those tasked to it followed him, while the others secured the bailey and sought out the food stores. Keladry was barking orders, only half paying attention to the man she was beating to the ground with the butt of her glaive.

They dismounted, the horses unable to go further, and Steve shattered the door that blocked the way up with a kick. An arrow whizzed down at him from the keep, and he deflected it with the back of his gauntlet.

“Robin, I want you on the roof there! If anyone pokes their head up, give them a haircut!”

Robin jumped from Scruffy to the thatched roof of the building, using the slope as cover. He fired an arrow almost immediately, and there was a clang as it deflected off a helm.

Steve charged up the stairs, Ren at his back and Henry following behind her. At the top, the last of the path was being raised, a drawbridge, and Steve leapt to catch its edge by his fingers. The extra weight made it lurch to a stop, and he shrugged his shoulders and pulled, bouncing his weight on it. Something broke, and the bridge fell back down with a loud whumph. The way was not yet open, a solid oak door in the stone wall blocking the way, and he stepped forward to deal with it.

Atop the wall, a man popped up, stabbing down with his spear. A man next to held a shield over him, blocking the arrow that came for him. Steve dodged the first stab, and on the second he grabbed the spear and pulled, the man utterly unprepared for it. He came tumbling over the wall and Steve caught him, headbutting him gently. The guard went limp, and Steve passed him back with one hand.

“Put him by the well,” he ordered, and he was passed through the crowded ranks down the stairs. Beyond the wall, he could hear someone screaming for boiling water. They couldn’t linger. “Give me space!”

He took his hammer from its harness on his back, and reversed the head so he was wielding it spike first. Then he reared back, and swung it into the door as hard as he could. The door shuddered with the force of the blow, and the spike sank deep. He worked at it, using it as a claw to gouge out the hardened wood, and when he got it out, he did it again, and again. The thunder of the blows echoed off the walls, each strike weakening the barrier.

Cries began to go up with each hammerblow, a wordless thing of fervour and eagerness for battle. On the other side of the wall there was silence, and Steve struck harder, intent on getting his men out of the narrow stairway before they could take advantage of them.

Finally, he broke through, a hole punched into the oaken door. The spike pried it open further, the wooden planks of the door giving up, and he peered through. There was no movement to be seen, and he punched through the hole, grasping blindly for the bar that held it shut. He found it, dragging it out of place and getting his arm out before someone could do something unpleasant to it. The door was kicked open, and he led the way as they rushed through with a shout, but there were no foes to be found, no fight to be had.

“They’ve fallen back into the keep,” Steve said, as his men flowed into the interior of the keep walls. There was another oak door in the stone of the square keep, this one banded with iron, but there was no sign of guards, no one glaring down from the crenellations and no archers at the windows.

“Do we need to dig them out?” Henry asked. He put his visor up, trying to wipe sweat from his brow without much luck.

“We do,” Steve said. “They could have deep cellars.”

“That’s a strong door,” Arnulf, a young man-at-arms of Henry’s squad, said. “Pity we don’t have a ram.”

“Don’t we?” Ren asked. The flagpole rested against her shoulder, and she wasn’t so skinny anymore, and under her helm her brown hair had been shaved almost to her scalp. “It got us through that door easy enough.”

“Ser, or his hammer?” someone joked, and laughter answered.

Steve smiled, but his eyes were still on the keep. “Two men go around the keep each way, check for other doors or surprises. When you get back, we’ll crack it.”

Henry picked the four, and the rest of them waited, a dozen men and one secret woman watching the door and the windows. They came back a bare minutes later, reporting a single entrance and no easy access point. It was a squat keep, without beauty, but they were built like that for a reason. They gathered around the door. It was two men wide, and had a barred window high above, but there was no movement to be seen behind the murky glass.

Hammer in hand, Steve stepped up. This barrier would be tougher to crack, but nor was he in such a vulnerable position. He drew it back - and paused, a thought occurring. Instead of with his hammer, he knocked with his fist, three quick raps.

There was a long pause.

“...what do you want, you bastard?”

“I want the supplies you’re holding, your boots, and your horses,” Steve said.

“The fuck you want my boots for?” the man demanded, indignant.

“Well, I don’t want you chasing after me once I leave, do I?”

Another pause.

“You’re not getting my boots.”

“Fair,” Steve said. “I’ll settle for the war materials you’re holding for the Reach army.”

“You’ve got them already, so fuck off!” the man said.

“I’m sure there’s no cellars in your keep, either,” Steve said. Lack of an answer was answer enough. “Let me be clear. I’m not here to hurt you or your people. Once I’ve got what I need, I’ll be on my way.”

A harsh laugh came through the door. “No harm, after you storm my bailey and kill my people?”

“I don’t think anyone has died yet,” Steve said. “You can look and see from the roof of your keep yourself.”

“And get my ear shot off too? Not likely.”

Steve sighed. “Robin! Hold your fire!” he shouted. “I promise the man who looks won’t have his ear shot off,” he said to the door.

Vague murmurings and angry words were exchanged behind the door, too faint to make out properly. A short time later, a head rose cautiously above the battlements, peering out for a moment before disappearing quickly. Not long after, there was another conversation beyond the door.

“...no fires, and…under guard by the well…”

“So you haven’t started raping and burning yet, but what’s to stop you once you get what you want?”

“My word,” Steve said. “I am Steve Rogers, Lord America, and I promise you that no harm will come to you and yours if you surrender your keep.”

“Words are wind,” the man shot back, though he was wavering.

“I knocked with my hand because I could,” Steve said. “I could knock with my hammer just as easily.”

“...send your men back down to the bailey, and I’ll speak with you face to face.”

“Back down you go,” Steve told his troops. “Let Keladry know how things are going.”

“Ser-!” Ren began to protest.

“And start drawing water from the well,” he continued. “Refill our supplies, and have some on hand for when we burn the wheat and grain in case of any accidents. We don’t want the fire to spread.”

Unhappily, they began to do as ordered, leaving Steve by the keep door alone. He stowed his hammer back in its harness. “Done,” he called through the door.

There was a shout of confirmation within, and the sound of a shifting bolt. Slowly, the door began to creak open. A man peered through the gap, as if checking Steve was alone. He took a breath, and stepped through. The door was closed behind him. It was the knight he had seen earlier, his gaze deeply suspicious, though he had found a helm since retreating to his keep. There was a broad scar across his nose.

“Never heard of House America,” he said, grip tight on his sheathed sword.

“I’m not from around here,” Steve said. “Arrived a bit over half a year ago. Won the melee at Harrenhal.”

“Word travels slow in these parts,” he said. “I’m Ser Haighsley.”

“Ser Rogers,” Steve said. He offered his arm.

Haighsley frowned, but took the arm slowly, and let go quickly. “What do you want?”

“Your surrender,” Steve said. “In return, you and your people will not be harmed, and I will only destroy or seize the war materials present.”

“Why would you offer me that?” he demanded.

“I gain nothing from cruelty,” Steve said, “and much from generosity. I’m here to fight a war, not spread suffering to those who never wronged me.” He did his best to show his earnestness, looking Haighsley in the eyes.

The knight ground his teeth. “I want to speak to my people you captured. With safe passage.”

“Done,” Steve said.

Haighsley turned to the door of the keep. “Don’t open this door to anyone who isn’t me,” he ordered. There was a muffled reply, and he turned back. “After you, ser.”

Steve led the way through the broken door and down the stairs, unphased by showing the man his back. His armour was strong, and frankly he’d hear if he tried anything. In the bailey, his men had been hard at work. There was no fighting, and very little blood to be seen. The crowd of prisoners around the well had grown, the twins Artys and Ortys watching over them. Twenty or so men and women sat in the dirt, and a purpling eye was the only injury amongst them, aside from the guards that had been overcome. Incongruously, an old woman was with them, but she sat in a rocking chair, not in the dirt, and was covered in shawls, chatting away at Willem, the redheaded slinger. He bore an expression of long suffering, but listened patiently.

Others were hard at work searching the village, and those he had sent away wore expressions of faint relief as he joined them in the bailey. Haighsley stomped over to his people, aiming for the injured guards amongst them.

“How is it going, Keladry?” Steve called.

“We’ve located the granaries and a smokehouse,” Keladry reported. “As well as five horses.”

“We’ll burn what the granaries hold, but take what you can from the smokehouse. We can make more pemmican at camp tonight, or use it as it is,” Steve said.

Keladry nodded. “Is that the lord of the keep?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “He’s just about to surrender.”

Haighsley had spoken with his guards, and was kneeling by the old woman now. There was a disgruntled look on his face, but a tension had gone out of him. He rose, and made for the two of them. Slowly, he drew his sword, and the men around reacted poorly, but Steve raised his hand to them, and they settled.

“In return for the guarantee of safety for my people,” he said, holding his sword out hilt first to Steve, “you have my surrender. My keep is yours.”

Steve took the sword and inspected it. It was a good sword, simple and workmanlike. “Walt,” he called. “Send word to Yorick’s squad. They’re to bring the noncombatants inside, and Corivo is to see to any injuries, ours or theirs.”

Haighsley’s jaw ticked, but he nodded in thanks.

“You’ll open your keep, and your men-at-arms will join their fellows down here. My men will search it through,” Steve said to him. “It would be best if you guided them to any war materials.”

“We will do so,” Haighsley said, defeat seeping into his voice, but also relief.

He handed the sword back, hilt first. “Your word is enough for me,” he explained.

Haighsley sheathed his sword, and doffed his helm, resting it at his hip. His pate was balding, and Steve realised he must be in his late thirties. “By your leave then, ser.”

“Henry,” Steve said, gesturing to the lord. “You and your men will lead the search. You know my rules.”

“Aye Captain,” Henry said, and he followed the defeated man back up to his keep, his men following.

Ren took up position at Steve’s shoulder, and Robin hopped down from his perch to stand at the other. Steve watched as Yorick led Naerys and the others through the gates, and he smiled as they met each other’s eyes. With the hard part over, now came the fiddly part.

X

Haighsley’s office had a window, a desk, and a chair on either side of it. One wall was covered in books and scrolls, but it was the parchment on the desk that had drawn Naerys’ attention, and she was sifting through it now, seated in the lord’s chair. Dodger was sniffing around the desk, but looked up with gimlet eyes as the door opened, crooked tail going still. When he saw who it was however, he let out a happy bark.

“Good boy,” Steve said, scratching him behind the ears as he took the empty seat before the desk. “Any luck?” he asked Naerys.

“Some,” Naerys said, not looking up, “but I still haven’t found the detailed outline for the Tyrell plan of attack.”

Steve snorted. “Try looking for the big red letters that say ‘Top Secret’.”

She flashed him a smile as she glanced away from the letter she was reading. In her cuirass and dark leathers, blonde hair braided tightly at her neck, she cut a striking figure even seated at the desk.

Steve strangled the errant thought that the desk could be put to better use. “What have you found?”

“Instructions on the delivery schedule,” she said, handing over a letter. “Nothing on when it might end, or when the army will pass through to take possession of it.”

“This is very precise,” Steve said, glancing over dates and times. It was honestly more exact than he had expected from a society without instant long distance communication. As Naerys had said though, any information that Haighsley didn’t need to do his job had been left out. That didn’t mean things couldn’t be inferred from what was there. “How much space had Haighsley put aside to hold it all?”

Naerys flicked through a pile she had already inspected, pulling out a particular parchment. “He received an answer to that question…but it only said to store it as required, and to build more structures as necessary.”

Steve frowned in thought. It seemed that someone on the Reach side had an inkling of OPSEC. “Not enough here to divine more then.”

“Not so far,” Naerys said, sorting through what remained.

“What about that pile?” Steve asked, nodding to a bundle tied with string to the side.

“Love letters,” Naerys said. “Some more passionate than others.” A hint of colour appeared in her cheeks.

“Definitely just that?” Steve asked.

“I read enough to be sure,” Naerys said, colour refusing to leave.

“Just to be sure,” Steve said.

She gave him a little glare, but couldn’t hold it in the face of his small smirk. “The supply caravans seem to be coming from a neighbour to the west, probably along the Blueburn,” she said, moving on. “If I could look over their letters as well, I might be able to tell how much they expect to consume between depots.”

“Good idea,” Steve said. It would depend on how the quartermaster ran the supply situation and how much of a reserve they maintained, but the more they learned, the more they could discern.

Dodger perked up at something, single ear flap raised, and a moment later Steve heard footsteps. The door opened, but it was only Lyanna, smelling faintly of smoke, and the dog relaxed, looking up at Steve as if checking he had done well. He was rewarded by more scratches, and his tail thumped at the floor.

“Got it,” Lyanna announced, a sheaf of parchment in her hand. She also had a quill and inkbottle that looked to have been borrowed from the desk, and her fingers were stained with ink. “Charcoal stick is much better than this,” she grumbled, putting them back and handing the parchment over.

Naerys looked over the information Lyanna had brought, nibbling at her thumb.

“Burning went well?” Steve asked the girl.

“Seized what we could, destroyed what was stockpiled for the army,” Lyanna reported. “The fire got into a roof next door, but it was handled.”

“Good,” Steve said. “Anything else?” he asked, seeing her hesitate.

“Keladry ordered we leave some untouched, and that the livestock be left alone,” Lyanna said. “They only have their chickens and an old cow for milk, so nothing that could feed an army, and-”

“Good,” Steve said. “We’re here to starve the army, not the people.”

“Right,” Lyanna said, easing some. “I figured, but. Yeah.”

“This could have fed Sharp Point for years of winter,” Naerys muttered as she read over the list Lyanna had brought.

“Armies are hungry,” Steve said, shrugging.

“And this only one depot, with more to come at that,” she said. “Though it is the last before they enter the Stormlands…”

“We’ll have to see what the next holds,” Steve said.

“I’ll take these,” Naerys decided. “We can compare it against the next holdfast we take.”

“Better to make copies,” Lyanna said. Steve and Naerys looked at her, and the weight of their stares made her look up from where she was petting Dodger. She flushed. “So they don’t know what you were looking at,” she hurried to explain.

Naerys considered it for a moment, already nodding. “You’re right.” She took a blank parchment and began scribbling down figures.

“It won’t be quick for Haighsley to send word about what happened here,” Steve said, “but you’re right. Any advantage.”

Lyanna couldn’t help but smile, and moved to help Naerys.

“Oh, and grab whatever parchment is left over,” Steve added as he got to his feet. “It’ll be useful for reports.”

The ladies nodded, most of their attention on the task before them, and Steve left them to it. There was more work to be done.

X

Before the afternoon was done, the small holdfast had been stripped of anything that might help an army on its march to the Stormlands. Granaries were burnt, the smokehouse was looted, root cellars were emptied, horses were seized. The treatment was shockingly gentle, contrary to what the residents had expected when they first saw the cavalry bearing down upon them. No one had even died, not even the guard shot through the neck by the lord’s squire, the injury seen to by the strange Essosi with them. No pillaging, no abuses, nothing worse than a black eye outside the guards - it was with a strange mood that the villagers of Ser Haighsley’s holdfast watched their attackers leave, riding out into the sunset. For all they had work ahead of them to repair the damage done, it was the work of slight misfortune, not utter tragedy. The knight himself watched them go from his shattered gates, bemusement writ clear on his face.

“A good showing,” Keladry said to Steve as they trotted away from the holdfast.

“A good start,” Steve agreed. The sun was beginning to turn red as it started to set in truth. “Not a real fight, but still.”

“Better that than an enemy camp,” Keladry said. Ren and Robin were riding behind them, second in the column that snaked out in their wake.

“Confidence building is one thing, as long as they don’t grow overconfident,” Steve said. “We can’t have them thinking every fight will be that easy.”

“No,” Keladry said. She was quiet for a moment, turning something over in her mind. “It is a long way from a group of bandits in the night.”

“A lot has happened since then,” Steve said, thinking back to the ambush the night they had first met.

Keladry gave him a look from under her raised visor that suggested he was perhaps understating things.

“I’m glad we stopped there for supplies,” he said. “Brindlewood, I mean.”

“I am also pleased,” Keladry said, a rare smile crossing her face.

“Who’s understating now?” Steve joked.

Keladry’s hand twitched up, as if to lower her visor, but she restrained herself. “What is our plan for the caravan?” she asked instead. “We could catch them tonight if we wished.”

“It would be a late camp, but they’re within striking distance,” Steve said.

“The men are quick to set camp,” Keladry offered.

Steve considered it for a moment. Morale was high, and a longer day with a dark end wouldn’t be received poorly, especially if they captured the caravan they had sighted earlier beforehand. “Let’s do it,” he decided, turning to speak over his shoulder. “Robin, spread the word to the squad leaders. We’re going to catch those wagons.”

Robin nudged his horse out of the column, slowing until a squad leader passed him. He passed the word, and the column increased its speed. The hunt was on.

X

Three wagons could never outpace a mounted force, especially when they did not even know of their pursuit. Safe in their own lands, on a route they had been doing for weeks, they did not think to hide their camp or post a sentry while they set their tents. Seeing an armoured giant loom out of the fading light of dusk and suddenly finding themselves surrounded was not the way they had thought their day would end. A moment of resistance from a knight was dealt with swiftly by Walt, and one of the wagon drivers who thought to make a break for it past a blond boy and his horses found his own mount unwilling to challenge the black beast he rode.

The fifteen guards were disarmed and tied together, Ed tying some fiendishly difficult bindings that would just about require a knife to undo, and a quick march saw the camp relocated to a more suitable location at the edge of a copse of trees. The sun was disappearing over the horizon as they began to set their camp in truth, everyone going about their assigned tasks, erecting tents, digging fire holes, preparing food. The members of the caravan were bemused as they were given roots and tubers to wash, the very same that they had delivered to Haighsley. Some of the men even engaged them in conversation.

Not all were taking their change in fortunes with such equanimity. The three knights watched Steve sullenly, stripped of their plate and maille, swords confiscated and horses spoiled by Toby. They sat in the dirt before him as he considered them, himself sitting on a stump. The sigils they bore meant nothing to him, but Keladry thought one of them might be of a middling House in the north of the Reach.

“I’ve got a few questions,” Steve said to them.

“We’ll not answer,” the leader of the three said, the one Walt had dumped in the dirt.

“That’s your decision,” Steve said. “If you’re sure that’s the choice you want to make.” He frowned slightly. He wanted to interrogate the knights, but he also had chores to do. No reason he couldn't take care of both.

The leader swallowed, but lifted his chin in challenge. “Do your worst.” His moustache was dishevelled, lessening the effect. The other two went slightly wide eyed. They were barely out of their teens.

“Settle down,” Steve said. “I’m not going to torture you.” He turned to a nearby soldier. “Mat, may I borrow your shovel?”

Mat, a Riverlander who had found Steve’s offer more interesting than his work with the quartermaster, was quick to retrieve it from where it was tied to his marching pack. He returned to setting up his tent after receiving a nod of thanks.

“Let’s take a walk,” Steve said to the prisoners. He rose from his stump and made for the edge of the camp.

Behind him, the knights exchanged startled looks, not moving from their seats in the dirt.

Steve turned back, not quite irritated. “Well? I don’t have all day.”

Slowly at first, then scrambling to catch up, the three prisoners followed after their captor. Few they passed gave them a second look, appearing completely unconcerned over the three of them going unguarded at their commander’s back. He wasn’t even armoured.

They reached the edge of the camp, and then went a stone’s throw further beyond. They were in clear sight of the camp, but the short distance insulated them from it and its noise. It felt like it was just them. Just them, and the lord leading the raiding force against their lands. Vulnerable.

A glance was exchanged, the same look in every eye. For a moment, foolhardy as it was, they considered it.

The moment ended when the commander spun the two foot long shovel and sank it into the earth, a shnk sound filling the air. In his hands, what should have been a gardener’s tool looked more lethal than it had any right to, and they reconsidered.

“I would tell you my name, but this isn’t that kind of talk,” Steve said, his back to the prisoners. He had watched from the corner of his eye until they made the smart choice, and knew they wouldn’t go back on it. He continued to dig, breaking a trench into the ground, and then starting to deepen it. Shnk went the shovel. The hole was wide enough to fit a man, if not deep enough. Yet.

The knights were silent, watching him dig. One shifted, uncomfortable.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you can choose to answer them, or,” shnk, “you can choose not to.”

The moon began to rise over the nearby woods, casting a pale light over the scene. Shnk. The knights were still silent.

“How much food did you deliver to Ser Haighsley?” Steve asked.

The knights blinked as one.

Shnk.

“Five wagons full,” one of the younger knights blurted. He had a nose large enough to be a target, and sandy blond hair.

Steve paused in his digging, turning to level a raised brow on the one to answer. Slowly, he looked between the man and the five wagons parked by the camp edge. His companions likewise gave him sideyed looks.

“Just under five tonnes,” the kid amended.

“What were you carrying?” Steve asked, directing it to the other young knight this time as he turned to resume digging. Shnk.

“Barley, hay, some roots and tubers,” the knight answered, confused. He had dark eyes, and had yet to fully escape the tyranny of pimples. They had heard talk that Ser Haighsley’s holdfast had been taken, so surely this was already known.

Shnk. “Right,” Steve said. “And you’ve been making the trip for how long?”

“Two weeks,” the lead knight said, trying to drag the attention off his peers.

Steve did a quick calculation in his head. “So you took over for the first group to run this route.”

“...yes,” the moustached knight said, grudging. “Another two weeks and we’ll be relieved too.”

“How far to the next holdfast?” Steve asked. Shnk.

There was a pause, but only a short one. “Three days,” the leader answered. Shnk.

“What’s the road like? Give your wagons much trouble?” Steve asked, conversational.

Shnk. “The road is fine,” the leader said. Shnk. “Hilly.”

The pit Steve was digging was thigh deep now, and only growing deeper as he worked tirelessly, piling dirt up on the side. “No old bridges to worry about?” Shnk.

“No rivers until the Blueburn, and we don’t go that far,” the kid with the large nose said. Most of his attention was on the growing pit, and he swallowed.

“Just to the next holdfast and back,” Steve said. “What’s it like? The castle.”

There was a longer pause now, and Steve kept digging. Shnk. Shnk.

“Well?” Steve prodded.

“Too strong for you to siege,” the moustached knight said.

“Dozens of guards, and tall walls,” the pimply one said.

Shnk. Steve nodded to himself. “Are you local boys then? Got friends there?”

The leader shifted where he stood. “No, I am of House St-” he cut himself off.

Shnk.

“We spend more time on the road,” the big nosed one said quickly, as if wanting to fill the silence.

Shnk.

“They know us well though. The gate captain owes me three silver,” the leader said, moustache twitching as he lied.

Shnk. “Right,” Steve said. Shnk. “How about the muster then?”

“The muster?” the moustached knight said, playing for time.

Shnk. Shnk. Shnk.

“Yeah, the muster. What’s the word on it? You hoping to join up with it soon?” Steve asked. The pit was almost to his chest now, long enough for him to almost stretch his arms out one way, and as wide as his shoulders the other. Shnk. Shnk.

The silence stretched out.

“We don’t know,” the pimply one said. “We just guard the wagons.”

“Come on,” Steve said. Shnk. Shnk. Shnk. “Weeks on the road, and you’re not counting the days until you can do some real work?”

The knights didn’t answer. Their faces were pale in the light of the moon, and growing paler as they stared at their captor and the pit he had dug.

“This is the choice you want to make?” Steve asked. Shnk.

“You’ll have no secrets from us,” the leader said, some of his fire returning. They had been put off balance by the questions at the start, but he would be beguiled no longer. “Threaten us with an unmarked grave all you like, but we’ll not betray our oaths.”

At either side, his companions nodded jerkily. One was shivering madly.

Steve stopped digging. He looked from the pit he had dug, now shoulder deep, and then up at the three knights standing next to it, looking like men approaching the gallows. He sighed. With a bend and a flex, he leapt up out of the pit in one movement, landing lightly before them, shovel in hand.

The knights stared back at him, fearful yet defiant still.

“This is not a grave,” Steve said. “This is a latrine.”

The leader blinked at him. “What.”

“It’s my turn on the chore roster to dig a latrine,” Steve said. “I’m not the only one. See?” He pointed off to the side, and the men turned.

So engaged had they been with the questions and the digging of what they had thought to be their grave, they had missed entirely when more men had left the camp behind them and begun work on similar pits a short distance away, carrying what would become privacy screens with them.

“But…you said we had a choice to make,” the sandy haired knight said. “You made it sound like-”

Steve frowned to himself. “I suppose I did, didn’t I.” He had thought his manner of questioning was a bit more effective than expected. “I was just going to give you gruel and water if you didn’t cooperate.”

The knight with the large nose closed his eyes, shivers subsiding. The leader was starting to glare at him.

“Well, that was my mistake,” Steve said, feeling a little bad for what he had put them through. “I’ll send a meat ration your way as an apology.”

From the looks he was receiving, it didn’t appear they would be accepting his apology any time soon.

“Come on then,” he said, setting the shovel on his shoulder. “Thanks for the info, anyway. Let’s get you tied up with the others.”

Glares were replaced with panic as they tried to think of what they had let slip, whispering and hissing questions at one another as they followed Steve back to the camp, falling in automatically.

Despite the misstep of the implication, Steve couldn’t help a small twitch of his lips. At least it would be a story worth a laugh down the line.

X

It was wrong to call it boisterous, but there was an energy around the camp that night, a tone to the conversations that would rise above the crackling of their fires before falling as the troops would restrain themselves. The men were gathered mostly in their squads, no hint of being split by social strata, and smiles were not hard to find. They were perhaps helped along by the wine ration Steve had released, but the exuberance had been building ever since they rode away from the holdfast earlier, and now the heady feelings of victory were bubbling over. Some had experienced it before, either in their knighthood, when they fought mountain clansmen, or against the pirates, but for others it was their first taste, and they found it sweet.

Walt and some of the other more seasoned warriors had spread themselves around the fire holes, dug so that they could enjoy the warmth without worrying about being seen from afar, and were dispensing wisdom and caution as only old soldiers could. Steve was not one of them - it was one thing to be warned to stay ready for harder battles by an old veteran, but to hear the same thing from the company leader would send a message he didn’t want to give. Instead, he found himself approaching the fire Keladry sat at, a skin of water in hand. It would be just the two of them by the fire; Toby was already snoring by the horses and Naerys was wrangling this and that.

“Steve,” Keladry said, looking up from the letter she was attempting to read by the light of the moon and the fire. It was well worn, parchment folded and refolded many times.

“Keladry,” Steve said. “Mind if I join you?”

“Please,” she said, carefully folding up her letter. It went into an envelope that she retrieved from inside her jacket, already thick with parchment.

“Is that what I think it is?” Steve asked, gesturing at it with his skin. He took a seat on a stump put there for the purpose.

A faint smile crossed her face as she stowed it once more. “It is. I sent her a letter while we were at the Gates.”

Steve watched her, deliberately not pressing.

“After speaking with Kelda…I couldn’t let Grandmother think I had suffered the same fate,” Keldary said. She touched a hand to the lump in her jacket. “Her first letter was as much remonstrating me for not writing sooner as it was demanding to know that I was well, and what I was doing.”

“I imagine you’d have plenty to tell her,” Steve said.

Keladry’s expression didn’t change, but she couldn’t hide her blush. “I made the mistake of sharing my current arrangements first. She was quite insistent on the advantages to be made in pursuing you for a match.”

Steve had been sipping at his water, and at that some went down the wrong pipe. He let out a spluttering cough, startled.

“I was quick to tell her why that would not be possible,” Keladry hurried to tell him.

“Right, yeah,” Steve said, wiping his chin. “That’s, good she’s looking out for you?”

“Grandmother Hellen has always been very forthright,” Keladry said. “She is the reason our House enjoys the strength it has today.”

“You haven’t spoken much about it,” Steve said. “Your House, I mean.”

Keladry was quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. “I suppose I felt ashamed to speak on it, after abandoning them.”

“Does your grandma see it that way?” Steve asked.

She gave a short laugh. “No. Half of one letter was spent calling me a fool for saying so.”

“Smart woman,” Steve said.

“House Delnaimn was much changed by her coming,” Keladry said. A night breeze blew through, rustling her ear length hair. “Our home Owlwatch was only a keep, but when I first saw it, it was a castle in truth. Grandmother had been betrothed to my grandfather as a punishment, but she would not settle for a poor home in a poorer land.”

“A punishment?” Steve asked, brows rising.

“Some scandal,” Keladry said. “It embarrassed her father more than her. She always said she would tell me when I was older, but somehow that day never came.”

“And Delnaimn was a punishment?”

Keladry shrugged. “It was poor, out of the way and isolated. House Arryn of Gulltown is not.”

“But that changed,” Steve said. He set his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. Kel had never been one to speak often of her home.

“A hard winter and a victory over the clansmen opened up the mountains some,” Keladry said. “Grandmother brought miners with her, and they found iron and sapphires. We have been the envy of our neighbours since.”

“And House Burchard is one of them,” Steve said.

“They were a peer, once,” Keladry said. “My betrothal to them was supposed to soothe the ill feelings that had developed since.”

Steve couldn’t help the scowl that crossed his face. The idea of arranged marriages did not sit well with him. “How’s your family doing? Did your grandma tell them…?”

“No,” Keladry said, shaking her head. “If Father knew, he would be bound to send me on to the Burchards.”

“Hellen doesn’t agree with that?”

“She does not care for them,” Keladry said, tone making it clear she was being diplomatic.

“If you told your Pa what happened, surely he wouldn’t,” Steve said.

“A lord’s word is important,” Keladry said. “Better not to put him in that position.”

“Sometimes doing the right thing means breaking your word,” Steve said. His brow furrowed as he thought of Barristan.

“Better my word than his,” Keladry said.

“What word did you give?” Steve asked. “Did you promise to marry, or was your word promised for you?”

“The word of my House is mine,” Keladry said, grimacing.

“Hellen seems fine with sticking it to them,” Steve said.

“Grandmother really does not care for the Burchards,” Keladry said.

“Heck, I don’t care for them and I’ve never met them,” Steve said. He felt a little bad about that, but he trusted Keladry, and the behaviour of the knight supposed to escort her to her marriage was despicable.

“I am glad we’re here,” Keladry said suddenly, apparently changing the topic.

“Why’s that?” Steve asked.

“If we rode with the Vale forces, I would likely have to spend my time hiding from them,” she said. “It would be awkward.”

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, challenge them to a duel and tell them to go away?” Steve asked.

Keladry gave a rare snort of laughter, but quickly contained herself. She shook her head as a stick broke and fell into the fire. “Even if they accepted, it would be a risk.”

“Kel,” Steve said. His tone made her look away from the fire to meet his gaze. “You know I don’t like to boast.”

“Aye?” Keladry asked, puzzled.

“I haven’t been going easy on you since Braavos. You can handle whatever knight House Burchard sends at you.”

“I’ve seen you fight in truth,” Keladry said. “I know the gulf of skill between us.”

“There’s a difference between sparring and fighting to kill,” Steve said. “If we fought, I’d take you seriously.”

“You are kind,” Keladry said, looking back to the fire.

Steve narrowed his eyes at her. “You remember our spar on the ship in Pentos?”

She nodded.

“No one else on board could have given me that. You’re a skilled warrior. Be proud.”

In the darkness of the night, it was hard to see the flush of her neck, but he managed it. She was quiet for a long moment. “You think I should challenge Lord Burchard?”

“I think you should be free to be open about who you are,” Steve said. “You shouldn’t have to hide away from feasts and dancing because someone might recognise you,” he added pointedly.

Keladry pursed her lips at the point.

“If that means kicking the stuffing out of someone who demands you give up your freedom for them…” he said, shrugging.

She made a noise of agreement, but didn’t answer. Her expression was controlled as always, but deep thoughts played out behind hazel eyes.

Steve looked around the camp. The groups around the other fires were starting to break apart, squad leaders packing their men off to bed, sentries being relieved and prisoners being checked. They would start early in the morning, and he had been clear on the need for a good night’s sleep before handing out the wine.

“Steve,” Keladry said, drawing his attention. “Thank you.”

He gave her a nod and a small smile. “Any time.”

X x X

The wagon could hardly be called comfortable, not when he was laying flat in it, covered by a heavy canvas that stifled all breeze. He felt every rock and ridge in the road, jostled by every movement; his heavy armour did not help matters, nor did the hammer laying across his chest. Beyond it, he could hear the chatter of Yorick’s and Erik’s men, as they filled the role of the drivers and escorts. Their goal that day was the next holdfast in the supply line, a larger and more fortified affair than the last. Rather than assault it directly, a more cunning approach had been chosen.

“Fifty yards out, Captain,” Yorick said from outside the wagon.

Steve knocked twice on the side of the wagon in acknowledgement. They had been over the plan enough before committing. Everyone knew their roles.

The wagons trundled on, and Steve could picture the approach in his mind’s eye. The region was hilly, and the road snaked along the low ground between them, before rising up to the keep and town that sat atop the largest. It held a decent view of its surrounds, but there were still places where a force of perhaps one hundred could hide from sight, like the lee of a hill where Keladry waited with the troops, mounted and ready.

The talk around him slowed and then stopped, as did the wagons themselves.

“Hullo the wagons!” a voice called. It came from above.

“Hullo the gates!” the driver to Steve’s wagon, a man named Byth, hollered back.

The wagon began to move again, the signal to enter the open gates apparently having been given. A shadow fell over the canvas.

“Hang on, who the fuck’re you?” another voice asked, this one close to the wagon. “That’s not Ser Dickon’s armour.”

The canvas was pulled back suddenly, and Steve reacted. He kipped up, hammer and shield at the ready. He was in the gate passage proper, but only his wagon had made it in before one of the two guards had recognised something was off. They gaped at him, the sudden appearance of a giant in heavy plate not what they had expected.

Steve leapt from the wagon, kicking one guard hard in the chin as he went. He was knocked into the wall and collapsed. He heard Yorick dealing with the one on the other side, and stepped forward. “Go go go!” he told Byth, the pale man snapping the reins. There were no murder holes in the ceiling of the gate, but he didn’t want the wagons caught in there.

The wagon ‘guards’ were rushing in, even as knights clambered out of the wagons as they were driven in and positioned defensively. There was a growing clamour on the wall itself, a stone construction maybe 12 foot tall, but the few men up there had no chance of stopping them, not now that they were through the gates. In truth, Steve felt that he could take the small town with the two dozen men fit to fight he had with him, but there was nothing wrong with overwhelming force.

His horn was at his hip, and he brought it to his lips. A dirge rang out, echoing off the walls and over the hills, and Steve knew that Keladry would be ordering the charge to join them. Now all they had to do was hold.

The wagons were through the gates now, positioned in two lines perpendicular to the wall and extending into a small square. They would hold the gap at their head, and clear the way when the cavalry arrived. Steve set himself at the widest point, and the knights joined him. A tense wait settled in as a bell began to toll.

The town was just barely worth the name, more for the walls around it than the size, but frantic movement could be seen within as those who had been going about their day fled deeper, making for the keep at its centre. The streets were hard dirt, and gutters alongside them flowed with filth that ran downhill.

Movement atop the wall caught Steve’s ear, and he turned in time to see a guard hurl a rock the size of his torso with a grunt. The super soldier dropped his hammer and stepped quickly, covering three metres in a single bound to catch the rock before it could crush one of his men. Willem looked at him with wide eyes - he was dressed in the armour they had confiscated from the original guards, but even his brigandine wouldn’t have been enough to save him - and Steve cocked back his arm, holding the small boulder in one hand. He hurled it back at the man to throw it, clipping him in the shoulder with such force that he staggered back and into the crenellations. A moment later there was a crash from beyond the wall.

“Drivers, get into cover!” Steve ordered the unarmed and unarmoured men. One of them paused from where he had been taking up the spear of the guard Steve had kicked in the head. “Robert, you were given your orders, ranged engagement or nothing!”

The Valeman with a permanent scowl almost pouted before jumping up into one of the wagons, retrieving one of the javelins stashed inside. The other drivers were already in their own, slings or javelins at the ready.

“Yorick, take four men up the wall and make sure no one is hiding up there,” Steve ordered. The blond knight nodded and made for the nearby stairs cut from the wall, gathering the men as he went. There was a clamour coming from within the town now, and Steve returned to his position, taking up his hammer once more. He could hear orders being shouted floating over the buildings, demanding to clear the way. Whatever force the local lord could call upon would soon be here. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck. Whatever men-at-arms were responding, he was confident his men were up to the task.

Across the small square, what might be called the main road curved out of sight towards the keep. What appeared down it was not a group of men-at-arms, hastily gathered to answer to the assault.

Eighteen knights led twice their number in guards towards them, barely slowing as they saw the rough defences readied against them. Their leader let out a wordless shout, and they broke into a charge.

Steve considered his options in a bare instant. Pulling back to the gate would be messy, and disadvantage them when reinforcements arrived. Standing their ground was necessary, but would let their numbers tell. He would have to change that.

“Arland,” he said to the knight beside him. He was a short man, but strong and compact, and skilled with the mace he held ready. “Hold the line while I’m gone.”

“Ser?” the man asked, rough voice unsure, but there was no time to explain.

“Hold,” he said again, and then he moved.

Steve was not a normal man, and it was made clear as he met the charge with his own, ducking to lead with his shield and shoulder, hammer sweeping out to the side. Two knights were thrown into the air and a third was hammered back like he had received a cavalry charge. There was no stopping the giant in armour heavier than it had any right to be, and he was three ranks deep before they could react. They flowed around him, unable to get at him or assuming the madman would be dealt with quickly, and battle was joined.

A breastplate was caved in with a blow of his shield, and he crushed one knight into another with a swing of his hammer, before reversing it to drive the spike through a man’s cuisse. Howls of pain and challenge rose around him, even as he blocked a maceblow with his shield and jerked his head away from the bash of a sword hilt. He repaid them in kind, whirling in the chaotic melee, too fast for a calculated blow to land, lashing out with shield, fist, boot, and hammer.

There was a sound like a gong as a knight reached for him to grapple, only to jerk and collapse as a stone hit their head. He jumped and kneed a man in the face, landing on him with both feet as he fell. A war pick tried to hook his shield and pull it to create an opening, but the strength was not there, and they found their weapon reefed from their grip, forced to abandon it lest they follow.

Bones were broken and shields were shattered as Steve continued through the scrum, not stopping for a moment. He found himself backhanding a man-at-arms, no longer surrounded by knights, and then he was through. He turned to see what he had wrought, and beheld a trail of devastation. About half of the force had hit his men, and a fierce melee had ensued, but they were being held at bay, their charge weakened and then harassed at range from the wagons and the wall.

The other half, the bulk of them knights, had been left staggered by his passage, either out of the fight entirely or forced to turn after him. He could see wide eyes and hear disbelieving oaths, and he spun his hammer, flicking blood from the spike. There were hoofbeats in the distance.

“Surrender!” Steve boomed. “Surrender, and none will be harmed!” His voice echoed off the walls and over the town, louder than it had any right to be.

A ripple of hesitation spread through the mob, and many looked from the downed to him and back.

“Always forward!” one knight shouted in return, and charged him.

Steve booted him in the chest, hard enough to dent it, and he was sent flying back to land on another unfortunate with a clatter.

“Surrender,” Steve called again. “I swear that no harm will come to the people you protect.”

The scrum at the wagons began to slow, those fighting disengaging, stepping away from their foes as they noticed a stillness at their rear. There was still violence in the air, and it threatened to break out again at any moment. There were those who had not witnessed Steve’s charge, and they seemed eager to take up the righteous fight once more, but for the uncertainty of the knights.

A loudening clatter of hooves made the point moot, and Keladry led the mounted force through the gate, armet helm swivelling as she took in the scene. She held her glaive out to the side, ready to sweep the head off any foolish enough to attack. But for the lack of fighting, she would have charged onwards and through. “Lord America, orders?”

“Accept their surrender if offered,” Steve said. “Otherwise…”

There was a moment as the defenders exchanged looks, taking in the dead and injured around them, and the growing number of mounted warriors filtering through the gates. Then, there was the scrape of metal on dirt as one of the downed knights forced themselves to their feet. It was one of the men Steve had bowled aside and knocked into the air at the start, and he limped towards him.

“In the name of Lord Sestor, in return for your oath that none within these walls will be harmed…” he trailed off. Steve nodded, looking him in the eye, and he swallowed. “I offer you our surrender.”

“I accept your surrender,” Steve said. “Your men will disarm, and the injured will be seen to. What is your name?”

“I am Ser Sestor,” the man said, raising his visor. He wasn’t yet middle aged, and plain features were drawn up in a grimace of pain as he used his sword as a crutch.

“Keladry!” Steve called.

“Captain!” she answered.

“You have command here. Coordinate with Ser Sestor’s second in command to help the wounded with Corivo. Ser Yorick is to secure the gate, Erik the walls. Walt is to patrol the town, and Humfrey is to remain on guard.”

“Aye Ser!”

“Osric!”

“Captain!”

“On me, we have a keep to secure.”

“Aye Ser!”

The squads broke off into their assigned tasks, working smoothly. Keladry began to bark orders at the defeated foes, her squad taking their weapons and piling them to the side.

“Ser Sestor,” Steve said, approaching the man. “Can you walk?”

“Not easily,” the man said. “But-”

Steve was already turning away. “Byth, unhitch a horse, lead it over.” He turned back to Sestor. “How many men still defend the keep?”

Sestor’s grimace deepened. “Ten, two knights. They’ll surrender at my order.”

Another clatter of hooves came, but it wasn’t the carthorse that Byth was leading over. It was Toby and Robin, and they had a horse following them, riderless.

“Toby, you’re supposed to be with the noncombatants,” Steve said.

“There were a runner,” Toby said. “Robin sorted him.”

Sestor cursed.

“Good work,” Steve said. “You marked where he fell?”

“Yes Ser,” Robin said.

“I’ll have his body retrieved later,” Steve said to Sestor. Byth approached with a horse, and Steve gestured for the knight to mount it. “Now, lead me to the keep.”

X

The keep was squat and thick, only two stories tall but quite long on the side. Its roof was crenellated, and a kid stared down from it, a knight at each side. “Uncle!” he cried in distress.

“I’m alright Leo,” Sestor said. “This is Lord America. I have given him my surrender.”

“Then, we are defeated?” the kid called. He looked to be about twelve, with the same plain face as Ser Sestor and dark brown hair.

Sestor glanced at Steve. “We are,” he said. “They have the gate, the walls, and the town.”

One of the knights atop the keep cursed.

“I have guaranteed the safety of everyone in this town,” Steve said. Like Sestor, he had mounted an available horse. “But I will be taking possession of all war materials in return.” At his back, Osric and his squad backed up his words, still mounted themselves.

Leo frowned, thinking, glancing between Steve and his uncle. A hand went to his mouth and he gnawed at a nail.

“Remember your lessons,” Sestor called.

It seemed to calm the kid, and he took a breath. “Then by your guarantee Lord America, I will surrender my keep to you.”

One of the knights with him disappeared from sight, going to pass the word, and Steve handed Ser Sestor back his sword. The man took it, slightly bemused.

“You can stay with your nephew, or you can come and have your leg seen to,” Steve said. The knight looked conflicted, so he added, “both, if you want.”

“I suppose we’re at your mercy already,” Sestor said, only half grumbling.

“Mercy is my privilege,” Steve said. “None of my men will give you trouble, but if they do, I will see to it.”

Sestor gave him a strange look, like he was wrangling a thought half understood. “Then, by your leave…”

“Osric, a man to escort Lord Sestor and his uncle,” Steve said, and it was so.

From there, it was the work of details. Word was spread of the surrender, and smallfolk peered cautiously from windows, having emerged from their hiding places. They watched as men were dispatched to the granaries that had recently swollen with supplies, to the cellars, to the armouries, to the stables. Grain was destroyed, a plume of smoke rising from the town, and Steve watched it with concern, though it couldn’t be helped, and it was not nearly enough to suggest a sacking. Supplies of armour had straps cut and sabotaged. Horses were confiscated to the dismay of knights and the joy of Toby, some forty seven animals added to their growing herd. Some food was taken too, more mounts allowing them to carry more supplies, though with diminishing returns.

Naerys was set loose on the lord’s office again, and she spent the remainder of the morning digging through letters and documents with a will. Steve left her to it, Lyanna helping again, and set to helping Corivo at the makeshift med station by the gates. The butcher’s bill came due as it must, and Steve set his mouth in a thin line to see it. None of his people had died, though it had been close. Two men would be assigned to the guard squad for the foreseeable future, their injuries delicate enough to demand it, and several more had injuries that would need to be watched closely. More still were hurt, but only the kind of hurt that would see them going to Betty and her girls for sympathy.

Harder hit were Sestor’s men, and most of that was on Steve and his charge through their ranks. Seven had died all told, and a dozen more were badly wounded, though thanks to Corivo’s skills they would survive.

By the time the sun overhead had begun to tip over into the afternoon, the bulk of the work was done, and some few smallfolk had even found the courage to watch them openly. Steve was preparing to pop a man’s shoulder back into its socket when Lyanna came running for him, trying to hide the excitement on her face.

“Ser,” she said, coming to a halt by the table he was working at. “Lady Naerys needs to see you.”

The man he was treating, seated on the table, glanced up in curiosity and he struck in his moment of distraction, feeling the joint settle back in. “Don’t move too abruptly, but check your range of movement,” Steve told the man. “What is it?” he asked Lyanna.

The girl’s gaze flicked to his patient for an instant. “I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask her.”

“Right,” Steve said, understanding. “You’re good?” he asked the man.

“Aye, thank you my lord,” the man-at-arms said, marvelling quietly at his repaired shoulder.

“Lead the way,” Steve told Lyanna, and they went.

The town hardly felt like it was occupied, save for the squads keeping an eye on things, and the disarmed defenders seated in the shade. They were quick to pass through, the walls of the keep no barrier to their entry, and they found Naerys seated at the lord’s desk, concentrating as she wrote.

“Naerys,” Steve said. “How did you go?”

“Yes good,” she said, most of her attention still on what she was copying. She finished writing and reached down beside her, groping for something but finding only air. She frowned. “Did you see where Dodger went?”

“The little lord was playing with him,” Steve said, having seen them as they entered.

“Ok,” Naerys said, refocusing on the task at hand. “Would you like the bad news first or the good news?”

“Bad news,” Steve said, settling into a chair. Lyanna took up a position at his shoulder.

“I still don’t have enough to work out how much they expect to eat between resupplies, but I think they’re allocating more than they need,” Naerys said. “That, or the Reach is sending even more men than Lord Baratheon expected.”

“Something to keep in mind as we get more info,” Steve said. He would hope they were being careful with their supplies, if they found evidence to the contrary, Robert would have to be warned.

“The good news is that the Lord of Grassfield Keep has looser lips than whoever is giving the overall orders,” Naerys said, pinning one letter to the desk. “There is a supply depot at the head of the Blueburn, and it’s from there that Haighsley and Sestor were supplied, as well as some other holdfasts in the region. If we hit it, we’ll hurt their ability to distribute supplies for later pickup.”

“That’s good,” Steve said.

“We found something else too,” Naerys said. “It might be an opportunity.”

“Might be?” Steve asked.

“Risky,” Lyanna said.

“Lay it on me.”

“A harvest party to the north was hit by bandits, and one hundred and fifty men were sent to root them out so they couldn’t cause any more problems,” Naerys said. “That was two weeks ago, so they should be on their way back by now, but if they weren’t to return…”

“Whoever sent them would think they had a bigger problem on their hands than they assumed,” Steve said. “How far north?”

“Out of our way,” Naerys admitted.

“That suits us though,” Steve said, considering. If forces were diverted to deal with a threat large enough to defeat 150 men… “Do you know where the men were sent from?”

“It didn’t give details,” Naerys said. “West.”

“Hmmm,” Steve said, turning the idea over. Both had advantages. Both had disadvantages. The depot was a primary objective, while the force was a target of opportunity. On the other hand, the force was mobile, and the depot was static. Not to mention, the bandit hunters might end up reinforcing another target they would need to take. “We’ll strike the enemy troops,” he said. “Afterwards, we can hit the depot at our leisure, but if we hit the depot first we risk them passing through the area and becoming a problem.”

Outside the office, there was a bark and the trample of feet. Steve didn’t blame the kid for wanting a distraction, but he’d still make sure Dodger was with them when they left.

“I think we’ve gotten everything here, but I’ll keep looking,” Naerys said.

“Don’t spend too long,” Steve said. “I want to be on the road again inside two hours.”

“We’ll work quickly,” Naerys promised.

Steve got to his feet. “Again, good work.”

Naerys smiled, and it made him smile back, unable to help himself.

He left them to it, heading out in search of another problem to handle. Once out in the keep hall though, he found himself stopping. Dodger and the kid, Leo, were looking over to him, interrupted from their play.

“Lord Sestor, Dodger,” Steve said, giving a nod of greeting. Dodger’s tail wagged, but he stayed at the kid’s side. He was a good boy.

“Lord America,” Leo said, returning his nod.

Steve turned to continue on, wanting to give the chance to keep on being a kid, but a voice called after him.

“Ser!” the kid said, the word almost bursting from him.

Pausing, Steve turned back to see Leo struggling to form words.

“Why did you come here?” he asked. “Why did you do what you did?” He didn’t seem upset, more bewildered, like he was trying to understand.

“I came here,” Steve started slowly, “because the King did something wrong, and now the kingdoms are at war over it. In war, you win when your enemy can no longer fight you. You can do that by destroying their army, their morale, or their supplies.”

Leo looked up at him, absorbing his words.

“I would much sooner destroy an enemy’s supplies than needlessly butcher their people,” Steve said. “If they can’t feed their army, it can’t be sent to fight and kill and die.”

Slowly, the boy nodded. He looked up and down the hall before leaning in. “I don’t want to kill anyone either,” he confided.

Steve swallowed, holding back the words. Sometimes you don’t have a choice, he didn’t say. “You’re young,” he said instead. “Focus on being a kid. Ask your uncle for a puppy.”

Leo grinned; he had a gap between his two front teeth. “I will, Lord America.”

Steve nodded to him and gave Dodger a scratch under the chin, and the two ran down the hall. His mind turned to less important matters, like the destruction of the wagons and the sabotage of the gates. The kid would be alright.

X

In time, they completed their goals in the Sestor holdfast, seizing what was convenient to carry and destroying or sabotaging the rest. Again, they left the residents almost stupefied in their wake, watching as they rode out through the dismantled gates. Ground-bound knights watched as Lord America’s force rode away on their horses, caught between infuriated at their loss and thankful that they had been able to retrieve their personal items from them first. Leo Sestor and his uncle were atop the wall, and Dodger, sitting on Fury’s rump behind Steve, gave a bark as they passed out onto the road beyond. The kid’s arm twitched as if to wave, but he controlled himself.

Steve whistled to himself as he led the column, following the road towards a path that his scouts had found that would lead them north. The sun was beginning to turn orange, but they would cover some distance before they had to stop to make camp. Behind him, he could hear the chatter of his men, all in good cheer and eager for more after the success of the day, even those injured. They had been lucky to avoid fatalities so far, and he knew it would not last, but he wasn’t in the habit of borrowing worries. A pleasant breeze stirred the banner that Ren carried behind him, setting it fluttering, and they quickly left the holdfast behind, winding through hills as they neared the northern path.

Before they reached it, however, they encountered another party on the road. Steve’s hand drifted to his shield where it sat in his saddlebag, but then he recognised those who approached. It was a group on foot, trudging along in ill humour, and all carried a piece or two of armour. They stopped suddenly as they saw Steve leading the column towards them, and he couldn’t help the twitch of his mouth.

While another group might have fled the road at the sight of such a force, these men only stepped aside as they approached, doing a poor job of hiding glowering faces. It was the caravan party that they had taken captive the previous day, finally catching up after being left tied up earlier that morning.

“Fellas,” Steve said as he reached them. “Fine day for a walk.” He couldn’t quite help the smirk.

“Lord America,” came the disgruntled reply. It was the moustached senior knight that he had questioned the night before, and he was carrying a breastplate in his arms, the straps and ties cut or removed.

“Not long to go,” he called out, not slowing Fury. “Think of the food and drink waiting for you!”

The man was a study in conflicted thoughts, looking very much like he wished to shake his fist at him, but also relieved at the suggestion that there remained a holdfast to shelter at. He settled for a grudging incline of his head, and was soon left behind, disappearing around a bend in the road.

They reached the path they sought, and turned down it, facing north as the sun began to fall off to their left. Steve nudged Fury into a trot, and then a canter, and his troops followed him. The horses had some energy to work out, and they had distance to cover.

X x X

For two days they travelled north, following farmers trails and narrow paths. A larger force, or one burdened by a baggage train would never have been able to follow them, but the mounted company of Lord America made decent time, growing ever more practised in the demands of their role. They passed small hamlets and farmers in their fields, and at one point Dodger ran off to play with a mutt that approached them, rejoining them a mile down the road, panting happily. For a time they could make use of directions gleaned from a map in Sestor’s office, but on the second day they passed beyond it, and had only their heading to guide them as they rode in search of the bandit hunting force. A father and son driving a cart gave them directions in thanks for aid given in fixing their wheel, speaking of rumours of bandits, though the word was weeks old. Still they travelled onwards, training lightly as they went, cautious as to their circumstances.

On the third day, they came to a village. Larger than the hamlets they had passed so far, Steve would have chosen to pass it by the same, but for the burnt out hall near its centre and the pair of empty nooses hanging from a tree at its edge. A frown settled over his face as he took it in from a nearby rise.

“Steve?” Keladry asked, bringing Malorie to a stop next to him. The company had come to a stop behind him, keeping mostly to their column but sprawling out some. Squad leaders spoke with their men, as those in front passed word back to why they had stopped.

“That wasn’t burned down recently,” Steve said. He could see the odd person moving through the village, and more in the fields outside it. They didn’t seem to be panicked, and none appeared to have noticed the few riders visible atop the rise.

“You think it might be the bandits?” Keladry asked.

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Steve said. “Can’t see bandits only burning down one building.”

Walt joined them, squinting down at the village. “Those nooses I see?”

“Yeah. Two of them,” Steve said. One had been cut open.

“Bandits don’t hang people,” Walt said, looking like he was fighting the urge to spit. “Law hangs people.”

Steve felt his jaw set in a grimace. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what he found down there. “Robin,” he said, raising his voice slightly.

A few ranks back, Robin looked up from where he had been talking with Osric and Ren, before trotting over swiftly. “Ser?”

“We’re going to scout the village,” Steve said. “The rest of you will stay here. Keladry, you’ve got command.”

“Aye ser,” Keladry said, already turning to pass orders. The men were shuffled back, out of sight behind the rise, and a rest rotation was begun.

Steve and Robin made their way forward, following the lane that led down to the village. It wasn’t overly large, perhaps only twenty buildings in all, with walls of wood and roofs of thatch. Their pace was deliberately slow, as Steve sought to avoid spooking anyone who would inevitably notice their approach. He glanced to the kid - the young man - riding at his side. With his bow slung comfortably across his back and sitting comfortably in his brigandine, he looked a long way from the slightly nervous kid who had asked him for a job all the way back in King’s Landing. There were even a few lonely hairs sprouting from his chin, and Steve filed that observation away for later, when Lyanna was around to hear it.

It was a man with a wheelbarrow who saw them first, carrying a load of charred wood. He stopped in place, grimy face going from blank to panicked as he saw the huge knight and his squire approaching. Steve raised a hand in greeting, but that didn’t stop the man from dropping his load and running deeper into the village.

“That’s not promising,” Robin said under his breath.

“No,” Steve said, frowning. “Let’s dismount.” They did so, leading their horses into the village by the reins. It had rained the night before, and their boots squelched in the soft ground as they walked, not quite mud. He was just glad he didn’t typically wear his full armour as they travelled, his helm, sabatons, and gauntlets packed away on Fury. He rubbed Brooklyn’s neck as they entered the village proper.

Word had already been spread of their coming, and near every door had a grizzled old man or tough old woman glaring out at him. Down the lane, at the village centre, a group of younger men were waiting, hammers and shovels in hand. They looked to have been working to clean up the remnants of the burned out building, what might have been what passed for the village tavern, but now they were staring at the strangers to their village with hard faces and tightly gripped tools.

Steve and Robin came to a stop, and there was a moment of silence where none spoke. From a nearby window, he saw a pale face staring out at the scene, half hiding behind the sill.

“I am Ser Steve Rogers,” Steve said, voice clear enough to be heard by all around. “This is my squire, Robin Longstride. I mean you no harm.”

There was no answer, not at first, and the moment stretched out. Then from the group of young men, someone called back, voice unwelcoming. “Whaddya want?”

“Directions,” Steve said. “Supplies, if you have any to sell.”

“Got none,” another voice answered. The group stood in closed ranks, making it hard to tell who was replying, and their stares were flinty.

“Ok,” Steve said. He looked around. The door to one of the houses nearby had a lean to it, like it had been broken in and fixed in a hurry, and another was missing a wooden shutter. “What happened here?”

“Bandits.”

“How many?”

“More’n you can handle.”

Robin shifted beside him, as if he wanted to disagree, but kept silent.

“These bandits,” Steve began, only to cut himself off as another person arrived on the scene. It was a young woman, and the entire left side of her face was a mess of cuts and bruises. Her left eye was swollen shut, and she carried a heavy bucket of water with both hands, grey dress dragging in the dirt. She froze as she saw him, trembling like a rabbit before a snake.

One of the young men burst from the group, running to put himself between Steve and the young woman. Hammer in hand, he backed up until he was right before her. He was barely older than Robin.

“What happened here?” Steve asked again, voice hard.

“Bandits,” spat the young man guarding the woman. Through the brutality of her injuries, a familial resemblance could be made out. She placed a hand on his shoulder, as much to steady herself as it was to calm him.

“Did these bandits carry a lord’s banner?” Steve asked, looking away from the young woman.

“What if they did?” another young man said, sneering.

“If they did,” Steve said mildly, “it will be easier for me to find them.”

“You gonna complain to their captain?” the woman’s brother asked, sullen.

“No.” Something in his tone smothered any disbelieving replies in their throats. “May I speak with your parents?”

Grief crossed the faces of both, and their gazes flicked to the tree outside the village, involuntarily. “No,” the man said.

Steve turned to Robin. “Go and get Corivo and…Betty,” he said, deciding that the no nonsense washerwoman would be most suited.

Robin nodded, mounting quickly, and set his horse to a canter out of the village.

The mood changed, less defiantly wary and more scared. Some of the grouped men looked to their homes, where their families were no doubt hiding.

Raising a hand, Steve sought to ease their fears. “I am not here alone, but I will not bring my men into the village.”

“Who’d you call then?” a voice asked from behind. It was an older man, carrying a hoe, who seemed to have emerged from one of the nearby houses.

“A doctor - healer - and a woman to help the young lady,” Steve said. In the back of his mind, he could feel an anger building, but he kept it tightly controlled. “I mean you no harm,” he said again.

“Words are wind,” the old man said.

“Not mine,” Steve said, meeting his gaze. Whatever the old man saw in him, it made him swallow his words, only nodding once.

Robin had reached the rise above the village now, and they saw as he spoke with someone there briefly, before four more figures appeared in view. He turned back for the village, and two of them joined him, cantering down towards them.

“We can’t afford a healer.” It was the man who had first seen them approaching the village, lips pressed in a thin line. Someone hissed at him, but he shook them off. “We can’t! Those cunts took everything.”

“I don’t expect payment,” Steve said.

“Lords always want something,” the man said.

Any answer was interrupted by the return of Robin, Corivo and Betty at his right.

“This is the young lady?” Corivo asked, accent drawing eyes. The woman in question was still frozen in place, almost shivering, and she shrunk towards her brother at his inspection. “I will need a room the lady is comfortable in.”

“You’re not taking my sister anywhere,” the young man said, raising his hammer. “You can help her right here.”

Corivo pulled a face, but Betty clucked her tongue in sympathy.

“I’ll handle the other,” she told him.

“As you say,” he said, before turning back to the others. “May we have a pair of stools, or shall we stand around in the mud?”

“Kegan,” the old man said, cutting the man off before he could argue further.

He sagged, and looked to his sister, as if for permission. Minutely, she jerked her head in a nod. “Fine,” he said. “...come with me.”

Corivo and Betty dismounted, the doctor retrieving his kit from his saddlebag, and followed the two towards one of the nearby houses, though Kegan kept himself between them and his sister still. Steve caught Robin’s eye and nodded towards the four, and the squire followed them, taking up a post outside the house that they disappeared into.

“You still didn’t say what you wanted,” the man with the grimy face said.

“I want to know what happened here,” Steve said. “Who did it. How many of them there were. Where they went. How long ago they left.”

“Why?”

Steve fought the urge to sigh. “Because I don’t like bullies.” One day he would meet someone who wasn’t suspicious of someone doing the right thing for no personal gain, but it was not this day.

“Where did you say you was from?” the old man asked suddenly, moving around so he was no longer at Steve’s back.

“I didn’t,” Steve said.

“You’d be a Reach lord, come to take them rogues to task,” he said, as if the matter was obvious.

Steve made a movement that might have been mistaken for a nod.

“Six days ago, they marched through,” the old man said. “Said they was out to deal with bandits, and we owed them supplies in aid.”

Someone spat, and another made a noise of derision.

“No bandits round here till they came,” another young man said.

A door creaked open, and those that had been hiding indoors began to creep out, cautiously coming to join the discussion now that it seemed there was no danger, like wildebeests approaching water.

“They took half our grain,” a hoary woman said.

“Two of my chickens, too.”

“And my pig!”

“And then there’s what they did to poor Ceria,” the old man said. He was near to strangling the hoe he held.

“Do you have a name?” Steve asked. His tone was even, but the look on his face left little doubt as to his thoughts.

The old man sagged. “No,” he said. “Me cousins, her parents, they tried to help her, but…”

“They hanged them from the picnic tree,” a man said, helpless anger on his face.

“Was it a lynching, or was it ordered?” Steve asked.

“Was their captain,” the old man said. “Read out a pretty spiel about attacking the lord’s men, and strung them up.”

“Numbers?” Steve asked, compartmentalising.

“More’n a hundred, less than two,” someone said.

“Not near two, even.”

A door was pushed open roughly, slamming against a wall, and Kegan bulled out of the house the others had gone to, Robin stepping quickly out of the way. There was a moment of rising tension, but the young man began to pace, and it was clear that nothing ill had arisen.

“Which way did they go?”

“Took they north road they did, but after…?”

“Did they have horses?”

“Twenty seven,” another woman said, middle aged. She received several blinks for her accuracy, and she scowled. “Bastards fed them on my hay.”

An inkling of a plan began to grow in Steve’s mind. “Any knights?”

“Only the captain.”

A thought occurred to him. “How did the fire start?”

“Stranger knows,” the old man said, bitter tone saying otherwise. “Started as they left the next morning.”

Steve nodded. “Five days march away on foot, at most,” he said to himself. “How far are we from the Blueburn?”

Some blinked at the change in topic.

“Proper? It’s a few days west with the mule and cart,” the old man said, rubbing at a grey stubbled chin. “Feeder river a day or so north. Why’s that?”

Steve was saved from answering as Kegan stopped pacing and approached.

“You’re going after them?” he demanded. “I want to go with you.”

“No,” Steve said.

The young man began to redden in anger. “I can fight! I’ll do scut work and-”

“Your sister needs you,” Steve said.

All the wind was taken from Kegan’s sails. “I - ! I understand,” he said, anger seeping from his frame.

He wasn’t small, and if Steve had been building his force he might have considered him, but now was not the time to add raw untrained recruits to his troops. “Do you know the name of the man who assaulted Ceria?” he asked.

“No,” Kegan said, shaking his head.

“Could you describe him?”

“Not well,” he said, upset with his answer.

“Could your sister?”

Here Kegan paused, conflicted.

“If she’s not up for it, that’s what it is,” Steve continued. “But a description would help.”

“I’ll ask,” Kegan said. He hurried back to the house he had come from.

After a moment, Steve turned to continue his questioning, only for the door to be thrown open again, and Ceria strode out. The fear that had hung about her like a cloak had been thrown off, and she strode towards him, Kegan at her heels. The bruised side of her face had a cream coloured ointment on it, but her open eye, red and weepy as it was, was alight with intent as she came to a stop facing him.

“You’re going to bring them to justice?” she demanded.

“I don’t know about justice,” Steve said slowly. “But they’ll pay for what they’ve done.”

Ceria nodded, hiccuping. “He had blue eyes, and his hair was brown. His smi- his teeth were mostly straight. He was short, about my height, and-”

Steve turned to dig in Brooklyn’s saddlebags, searching for the drawing supplies he had tucked away. He quickly had a sheaf of parchment and a charcoal stick out, and set to work as Ceria spoke.

“-broken nose, after Ma hit him with the pan,” she said, sniffling, though she winced at the pain that came afterwards.

Half the village seemed to have gathered now, and they watched as Steve finished sketching the image her words had conjured. “Like this?” he asked, showing her the drawing. A murmur spread as they glimpsed it.

Ceria’s good eye was fixed on the parchment, hate burning within it. “That’s him.”

“I’ll have it passed around the troops,” Steve said, taking care not to smudge it.

Robin had followed Kegan over, and now Corivo and Betty approached as well. Steve handed the drawing off to Robin as Corivo handed a small tin to Ceria.

“As I was telling you,” he said.

“Every morning, until the swelling is gone,” she said. “Thank you, m’lord. Thank you.”

There was much interest in the tin that contained the ointment, and the hoary woman stepped forward, asking to inspect it.

“I’ll need some time,” Betty said to Steve quietly, glancing at Ceria.

“How long?” Steve asked.

“Maybe half an hour?” Betty said, pursing her lips.

“We’ll have an early lunch,” Steve said. “Though we can’t afford more than an hour.”

“That will be enough,” Betty said, before sighing. “I’ve helped too many girls through this.” A wave of exhaustion seemed to pass through her.

Nothing Steve could say would make it right, so he said nothing, clasping her on the shoulder briefly. Betty took Ceria gently by the elbow, leading her back to the house they had come from, and Steve gave Robin some quick directions to pass to Keladry. The troops would set down for a proper break, but in the meantime there was more he could do here. He stepped past the group of young men who had been first to ‘greet’ him, approaching the charred remains of the burnt building. Puzzled eyes watched as he neared, the stranger less a threat and now something of respectful interest.

Puzzlement turned to incredulity as he took up what had been a large load bearing beam, setting the still thick, metres long post on one armoured shoulder, uncaring of the black scuffs it made. “Where does this need to go?” he asked of them.

“The woodpile…” one said, staring.

“You’ll show me where that is, Kegan?” Steve asked.

“Er, yes, right ser,” Kegan said, slow to move, but then hurrying.

Steve heard Corivo sigh as he followed Kegan.

“Don’t argue,” the Myrman said back with the small crowd. “Just accept that the Captain is a very particular fellow and accept his aid.”

“Innee a noble?”

“Like I said,” Corivo said, voice carrying, “a very particular fellow.”

X

Word of what had happened to the village spread with the sketch of the rapist, and a hunger took the troops as they followed what faint signs of passage remained left by those they hunted. They knew well their Captain’s view on such behaviour, and now they had a righteous anger behind them on top of their more practical reasons for taking the fight to these foes.

Unfortunately for those foes, they caught up with them two days later.

Dusk was falling as Steve and Keladry observed a messy camp from the safety of the nearby woods. There was evidence that it had been combed for firewood, but those they hunted seemed to have returned to their camp by the night. From what Steve could see of it, he was not impressed.

They had set their camp in the bend of a river, the tributary to the Blueburn that the old man at the village had mentioned, and it was clear that they thought themselves safe. Whether by their numbers, or their apparent recent victory over the bandits they had hunted, or because they were comfortably within Reach borders, he couldn’t say. He only knew they were wrong.

“A lazy sentry picket,” Keladry said. In navy and grey, she blended into the shadows of the tree she leaned against, watching as fires were stoked and meals were cooked. The sentries appeared to be standing only a short way from the camp, and making no move to conceal themselves in the long grass around it. One had even stamped it all flat nearby, so as not to have to deal with it.

“They’re using the river as a toilet,” Steve said. Like Keladry, he was wearing darker colours, with no steel to glint in the light, disguising his profile with the tree he leant against.

“Upstream or down?”

“Down, at least,” Steve said. There was discipline enough for that, though the rough arrangement of tents and raucousness of some groups said it only stretched so far. “Horses all grouped on the downstream side too. They’re taking them to drink in groups.”

“Found the leader,” Keladry said. “Just came out of his tent, taking his helm off. Saw him give an order.”

“I see him,” Steve said. His eyes narrowed at the man. He was large with a fighter’s frame, and was joking with his men, but he had still given the order to hang the parents that had tried to save their daughter from assault. “I count about one hundred thirty men,” he said.

“Think they have a patrol out?” Keladry asked. The letter had mentioned one hundred and fifty dispatched to deal with the bandits.

“Or they lost some in the fight,” Steve said.

“Twenty six horses,” Keladry said. “They either lost one in the fight to go with the men, or it’s leading that patrol.”

“We’ll watch until the moon rises,” Steve decided. “Any patrol should return by then, and if they run into the others, they won’t be a problem.” His own troops were hunkered down behind a finger of the woods, in a much more disciplined camp than the one before him. He felt vaguely snobbish, but given that their lack of effort was about to see some of them dead, he felt it was warranted.

They watched and waited, time ticking past, but no patrol materialised, and dusk turned to night in truth. An owl alighted on a branch above Steve’s head, head twisting as it watched him. The moon rose, half full, and the shadows grew deep, though not as deep as they could be.

“That’s it then,” Keladry said, breaking the silence that had settled in comfortably. “How shall we do it?”

Steve cast his eye over the lay of the camp one final time, taking in the sentries, the way the camp was cradled by the river, and finally the small herd of horses at the side. “We don’t need to kill them to the last man,” he said, “only remove them as a coherent force and prevent them from spreading word of our presence. If we sneak in and seize their horses, whoever remains after we attack will have to walk to the nearest holdfast.”

Keladry absorbed his words. “You want to use Toby.”

“If the two of you agree,” Steve said. “He would join me and a small group.”

“I know you’ll protect him,” Keladry said. A ghost of a smile crossed her face in the moonlight. “He would sulk for days if I denied him this.”

Steve answered with a faint smile of his own. “He would.”

“Even with Toby leading them and their poor watch, they won’t miss the horses leaving,” Keladry said.

“You think we might get bogged down?”

“I think we might take advantage of it,” Keladry said. “Ready two squads to stymie any defence.”

“Dealing with dead and wounded will hinder them, too,” Steve said, nodding. “We’ll make it three squads, two to engage directly, and one at range.”

The owl above swept down from its branch silently, and they watched as it plucked a field mouse from the ground, turning gracefully to return to its branch.

“Without mounts, they’ll be at our mercy,” Keladry said.

“I’m not feeling all that much mercy for them.”

“No.”

A pause, the only sound besides the rustling branches and their breathing the owl tearing into its meal.

“What do you have planned for the target?” She didn’t have to specify.

“If he survives, execution,” Steve said. It was not what he would choose in a perfect world, but he worked in the world that was. “Either here, or at the village.”

“Good.”

There was movement in the camp, the energy within having died down after the meal, but it was only the next shift of sentries relieving the first. None took any more care to conceal themselves than their predecessors.

“Come on,” Steve said. “Let’s get back to the others.”

The two warriors began to creep back through the trees and towards the others. It was time to get to work.

X

Under the light of the moon, Steve crept through the long grass. Toby was at his back, protected, and Walt was right beside him. The old man had invited himself along the moment the kid’s role in the plan was shared, daring anyone to refuse him. Three more followed behind, chosen for their light feet and quick hands. The grass rippled against them in the night breeze, and the scent of horseflesh was carried with it. They were getting close.

Steve whistled softly, imitating a local bird, and they stopped. He moved forward alone, close to the ground and stretched out like some kind of jungle cat, picking his way closer to his target on his hands and toes. Unlike other sentries, this one had not stamped the grass around him flat, and Steve was almost close enough to reach out and touch him when he stopped. His breathing was steady and quiet as he waited for the opportune moment.

The sentry yawned, a huge, jaw cracking thing that had him closing his eyes. Steve surged forward in silence, and his rondel knife took the man in the throat, piercing up into his brain. He died near instantly, and Steve’s momentum carried them back down out of sight. The grass rippled in the breeze.

A false bird whistled again, and the others joined him, staying low, though Toby barely had to hunch. Steve cleaned his knife on the clothes of the sentry, a plain gambeson under chain without any identifying marks he could see.

“We goin’?” Toby asked, impatient.

“When we’re ready,” Steve said quietly. He turned to the others. Like him, they were not wearing armour, prioritising stealth and ease of movement. “Can you see the horses we need?”

Toby went up on his tiptoes, looking over the grass. “Ain’t moved much. Should all still be where they were. That brown stallion is drinkin’ at the river.”

“Erik, you’re to the river then,” Steve said. The lean old ginger hummed his acknowledgement, perched on his heels. “Than,” Steve said, turning to a young blond hedge knight, “you’ve got the grey stallion off to the right, a few horses from the edge of the herd.” Than only nodded; the kind of man to speak only when necessary. “Talbert, your white gelding is closest, but don’t mount until you see someone else do so.”

Talbert was an Arryn guardsman before Steve recruited him, and his black hair and squashed nose gave him a no-nonsense look. “Ready ser,” he said.

Steve turned to Walt. “Walt, any horse will do. Toby, you know your goal.”

“Piebald mare at the middle of the herd, yeah,” Toby said. “Rest will follow so long as we get them three.”

“You all know the plan once we get them,” Steve said. “Let’s go.”

Onwards they went, rising up as they neared the herd. A pen had been fashioned for them with stakes driven into the earth, a thin rope running from stake to stake acting as a boundary, and they cut it as they passed. The animals were only idly curious at their appearance from the long grass, but as Toby neared they perked up, raising their heads from the fodder they were chewing on.

“Yeah, yer a strong one, ain’t ya,” Toby said, speaking more under his breath than to the horses, trailing his hands along the flanks of the horses he passed as he entered the embrace of the herd.

Erik broke left and Than went to the right, while Talbert lingered by the white destrier that was his target, scratching its neck. Steve and Walt followed Toby deeper into the herd, and they quickly found the black and white mare that Toby had pointed out as one of the leaders.

“You could run for days I reckon,” Toby said to the mare. “You don’t want to run with this lot though do ya. I bet they don’t even give ya treats.”

The mare stomped a hoof and whickered lowly, as if agreeing with Toby’s outrage.

“Wanna come with us?” Toby asked. He produced a slice of apple from his pocket and let the mare take it from his open hand. “Yeah ya do.”

“You ever think about talking to people like you do horses?” Walt asked, amused. “Might do you some good.”

“People are dumb,” Toby said, scoffing.

“Not like horses,” Walt said.

“Yeah,” Toby said, completely serious. Steve held back a smile.

Before Walt could respond, there was a shout of alarm, abruptly cut off into a gurgle. It came from the river, and their heads turned as one in time to see Erik rise above the herd as he mounted up.

“Time to go,” Steve said. He boosted Toby up onto the mare, and the kid settled easily onto her back, taking a fistful of mane as reins.

There was movement in the camp now, attention drawn by the shout, and they hurried. Walt found a horse for himself, pulling himself up with a grunt, while Steve leapt sprightly onto another. They pushed for the gap they had cut in the pen, Toby leading the way, and he gave a whistle as he did. It seemed to capture the herd’s attention, the horses that the others were on first amongst them. From there it was like a turning tide, as sleeping and grazing horses began to follow, one after another moving away from the camp, following the river.

Someone bellowed the alarm, and the camp began to boil with activity. Half dressed men emerged from tents, confused and armed, but when they saw the herd beginning to trot away the confusion turned to disbelieving outrage.

“Rustlers!” someone shouted.

“Idiot!” came the reply, but anything further was lost as the herd began to canter, then to gallop, making space between them and the few troops aware enough to chase, quickly leaving them behind.

Toby was laughing madly, the sound carrying on the wind behind them, and Steve suspected that he had just helped the kid carry out a long held dream. His malicious glee didn’t appear to go over too well with those they had stolen from, and Steve saw some began to give chase, a ragged line stretching out.

“Steady,” Steve called. “Let them think they can catch us.”

They began to slow, their clean escape apparently running into troubles, and the rear of the herd milled, unable to get past those in front of them. More men began to pursue them, bellowed orders attempting to impose some form of order to little avail. Nearly a quarter of the camp looked to have spilled out after them, anger overcoming good sense, and eager shouts went up as they neared.

“More?” Walt asked, calling from his mount.

Steve judged the ragged mob chasing them along the river. By the moon’s light, he could see the victory in their faces, sure that their escape had been foiled by disobeying horses. “I think we have enough,” he said. “Break from the river.”

They broke to the left, leaving the river behind. The herd followed the lead horses, or perhaps Toby, and their pace picked up, all pretence of sloth left behind with their pursuers as they rode hard south. Toby’s cackles only grew.

The Reachmen cursed and raged as they watched their horses disappear into the night, hoofbeats and insulting laughter fading away. They came to a grudging stop, many bent over and heaving after the short run, hands on their knees. Many struggled to comprehend what had happened, who had dared - was it rustlers, bandits they had missed? - but they did not have long to think about it. Distantly, the sound of hoofbeats returned, and confusion spread in the growing mob of men as they looked out over the grass. Had the horses been spooked, and begun to return?

Such hope was short lived as they saw three wings of mounted warriors looming out of the darkness, the thunder of their hoofbeats heralding them. For a heartbeat they stared in befuddlement, before cold reality crashed down on them. They turned to run.

They could not run fast enough.

X

The scent of blood was carried by the night wind, and Steve watched as his soldiers added to it. Walt had seen the others back to their camp, but Steve had stayed, not to join the battle, but to observe. He stood a short way from it, alone in the grass, arms crossed over his chest. His pulse quickened, a slight worry on his face, but he held his ground. He was confident in his soldiers.

Keladry led the charge as they swept through the men that had pursued them, hardly even slowing. Henry and Osric led their own squads on each flank, and they tore through the fleeing mob of men like a trident. Spears pierced men through the chest and were let to trail, dead weight pulling them free to be brought back up for another strike, and Steve saw three heads go flying in Kel’s wake. Of the thirty or so men, only a small handful reached the river, throwing themselves into it desperately to escape. The cavalry wheeled around at Keladry’s order, making a second pass through the field to clean up those few who had avoided the first charge. Only one survived, having run in the opposite direction to most, and not for long, as he was struck in the head by a stone. A glaive was raised, long blade glinting in the moonlight, before being slowly levelled at the enemy camp. The mounted troops began to reform themselves.

The bulk of the foe had not wasted the time that the slaughter of their fellows had granted them. What armour they could find hastily had been donned, and spears were apparent as they formed a line, their right flank anchored by the river. Defiant shouts came from the leader of them as he exhorted his men. Steve frowned in disapproval at one term the man used to describe them. That was just uncalled for.

Three squads of cavalry faced one hundred men, but they had not formed a wedge, and they did not charge. Instead, Keladry gave an order, and the line of horsemen set their spears at rest, couching them in the provided cup by their stirrup. Slings were produced, and near every man began to swing them overhead, their line spaced out enough to do so by design. Steve watched as his tactics were tested properly for the first time. At Keladry’s word, the volley was loosed.

Yelps of pain answered and a spear was dropped, the crack of stone against maille and steel ringing in the night. Bones were broken and the enemy seemed to huddle in against each other. One man slumped forward from the line to collapse to the ground, the blood streaming from his forehead dark against his pale face.

“Cowards!” came the cry. “Gutless!” “Donkey fuckers!” “I’ll fuck your mother! Twice!” The Reachmen sought to rally themselves.

Keladry was unperturbed by the insults, the shift of her lethal looking helm the only indication of another order. The slings were raised again, and another volley was their answer.

Steve looked to the right, upriver, and saw something that the foe didn’t. The battle would be over soon.

Another volley, and more shattered bones, the crack and screams audible even at a distance. Their lack of armour had left them vulnerable.

“They’re scared!” the Reach leader shouted. “We go to them! Take them head on, charge!”

It was a poor decision, and some of the men seemed to know it, but it was one of the few available to them. Steve shook his head as the spearline broke into an untidy charge, desperation driving them. War cries were hollered, but they were hollow things.

Keladry did not deign to give them what they wanted. She had seen the same thing Steve had, and she waited only long enough to deliver a final volley. The Reach leader fell, poleaxed, after his helmet was rung like a gong, and then the horses were wheeled about, riding away.

Sounds of outrage and false victory came from the enemy in equal measure, but not for long. The squads of Humfrey and Yorick had charged silently, hoofbeats lost in the clamour of the fight, and now they took them in the rear, ploughing through the unprepared and unbraced men. Screams of surrender went up immediately, before the cavalry had even finished carving a path through them.

Steve let his hands fall to his sides, already approaching the growing rout as Keladry barked orders, bringing the killing to an end. It was over.

X

Steve sat on a stool in the middle of the enemy camp, watching as his men looted it for everything of use. Choice bits of food were taken, animal fodder was seized, and weapons were gathered to be picked over by those who might fancy them, though most of Steve’s men already bore equal or better quality. A smouldering campfire had been stoked and fed, and now a bonfire greedily consumed footwraps and spears, while any leather boots were thrown into the river. The Captain had decreed that every prisoner would be barefoot, and so it would be. The mood was almost cheerful as they worked.

The prisoners were being processed off to the side, away from their camp, and guarded by mounted men as they were stripped of all but their clothes. They would be treated as prisoners ought to be treated, but that was all.

Two bodies were dumped in front of him, and Steve looked up from the orders he had been reading by the bonfire’s light. One was a corpse, the leader, a patch of bloody hair the only wound on him. The other was still wriggling, hands bound at his back and a gag tied harshly across his mouth. Steve recognised his face, and he put the orders aside. Something about his regard made the man go still.

“Where’d you find him?” Steve asked the men who had brought him.

“Bolted for the river during the surrender,” Artys said. His twin was elsewhere, intentionally split during combat.

“Willem got him in the knee before he could get far,” Gerold said. The Valeman looked like he wanted to spit, but thought better of it. “Tried shouting that he was some lord’s son, but no lord’s son would be with this lot.”

“Hmm,” Steve said, inspecting the brown haired man. He had turned to be on his side, looking up at him.

Blue eyes bulged as the man tried to speak, repeating a word.

“Is he calling me a bastard?” Steve asked his men. They did not seem pleased with the man.

The captive shook his head frantically, trying to say something else, but the gag was tied too tightly, dragging his cheeks almost to the back of his jaw.

“Untie the gag,” Steve said. He deserved a chance to speak in his own defence, if nothing else.

Artys did so, rolling up the cord and stepping back.

The prisoner coughed and hacked, getting his knees under himself to rise as best he could. “I’m a bastard son of a lord,” he said, speaking quickly. “I’ll be ransomed, not much, but enough to be worth sparing.”

“I see,” Steve said, like he was considering it. “Not long ago, you passed through a village. A young woman was raped. Do you know anything about that?” His tone was even, like he was discussing supplies.

The man paled. “That was - that wasn’t me.”

“Strange that she’d give me your description then,” Steve said.

The captive was pinned beneath Steve’s gaze like a bug on a card. “Lots of us look alike. Maybe it were one of the others.”

“No, I’m quite sure it wasn’t,” Steve said. Around them, work in the camp slowed as others saw who he was speaking with. He saw Robin and Ren from the corner of his eye, but remained focused. “She was very clear.”

“It weren’t rape! She changed her mind after, when her parents caught us!”

“What happened to her face?” Steve asked. Through it all, his expression remained the same.

“What?” the man asked, befuddled.

“Her face,” Steve said. “You beat her quite badly.”

“No, I - it must’ve been in the fight, she got in the way when her father tried to stab me!”

“And her father was hanged for that? For attacking you?” Steve asked.

The captive nodded jerkily, swallowing. “Can’t attack a man in service to the Reach without consequences.”

“And her mother?” Steve asked. “More consequences?”

The man’s mouth worked wordlessly, opening and closing, before a look of hatred came over him. “The slut was asking for it! I paid her fair!”

Steve felt his lip curl in distaste. Small, weak men were the same no matter the world, it seemed. “Get on your feet,” he said, rising to his own. He towered over the man, features flickering in the firelight.

Struggling, the captive rose, a thin veneer of defiance fighting to conceal his fear. He began to tremble minutely as Steve stared at him, thinking.

Prison was what he deserved, there was no doubt - but this was not America. This was Westeros. He might carry his morals with him, but there was no system to support them, not even a local authority he could hand the man over to for punishment and rehabilitation. The authority he should have been beholden to had participated in the low deeds he had committed, murdering the parents of the girl he had wronged. There was no lawman here. There was only him.

He could kill him.

He could reach out and snap his neck. It would be easy. It would be justice by the laws of the kingdom. It would let them march for the Blueburn depot immediately. For murder and rape, it was what he deserved. It was the same punishment he would get anywhere else.

Steve let out a slow breath. It was the easy way, but the easy way was not how he did things. “Gag him, hobble him, keep him away from the other prisoners and under guard,” he ordered.

Gerold made a noise of discontent.

“You’ll face justice before those you wronged,” Steve finished.

“You can’t do this to me!” the man said, his voice rising in pitch and volume as it went. “You can’t-”

Steve felt his temper snap and fray, and his arm blurred quicker than the eye could follow. A crack sounded in the night, and the man staggered back, kept up only by the two men behind him. Gerold was grinning, and Artys looked satisfied as they manhandled the near insensenate man away, left side of his face already starting to redden and swell. It was the same side that Ceria had been so battered on.

The captain sighed, unhappy with himself. “Robin!” he called, and his squire approached.

“Yes ser?” Robin asked, hurrying over.

“Pass the word to the squad leaders,” Steve said. “We’ll be returning to the village before we ride for the Blueburn supply camp.”

“Yes ser,” Robin said, nodding.

“Have Walt overfill our supplies, we’ll give the excess to the villagers when we arrive,” Steve said.

“Right ser,” Robin said. He looked pleased, and his eyes trailed after the captive as he was dragged away, disappearing from sight.

“Robin,” Steve said, and something in his tone stopped the kid from answering. He waited, question in his eyes. “It was wrong of me to strike that man.”

Robin shrugged. “He deserved it.”

“He might have,” Steve allowed, “but after I decided not to execute him here, I should not have hurt him.”

The kid nodded in apparent agreement, but it was clear he saw no issue with it, even if he knew academically that it was wrong.

Steve held back a sigh. He was young. He’d learn. “Off you go,” he said.

The post-battle business continued from where it had slowed to watch him deal with the captive, and he returned to his stool. He began to read through the dead captain’s orders again, thinking and planning. This Grassfield Keep sounded like it had potential, even if its barracks were swollen with troops in anticipation of the invasion. Maybe its lord would suddenly have reason to send more of them out to deal with unexpected problems. He made a note to keep a set of uniforms from the defeated. He had a feeling they might come in handy.

X x X

When they returned to the nameless village, this time, they were not met with suspicion. Instead there was a cautious optimism, one that turned to a cold hunger as they saw just who was slung over the back of the horse behind Steve. It was like the captive, whose name they still did not know, had become the focus of all their ill-feeling towards the force that had swept through their home, and the desire for revenge was a palpable thing. The soldiers behind Steve were almost ignored on that sunny day, and they formed a solemn procession as they rode slowly through the village, smallfolk walking beside them with their eyes fixed on one man, making for what had once been called the picnic tree. The only sound beside the clop of hooves and the clank of metal were the muffled pleadings and curses of the captive.

The nooses that had murdered the two villagers had been removed, but a new one waited, thrown over a strong branch. The begging and threats took on a fevered intensity when the captive saw it, but none heeded his words. Two men, soldiers, hauled him off the horse that carried him and handed him off to a pair of locals. Despite the struggles, the bound and gagged prisoner had no chance of escape, and he was dragged towards the noose, heels leaving tracks in the dirt. Steve and his men watched, grim faced, as he was fitted with the noose. It was pulled tight around his neck, and anticipation set in.

They had arranged themselves in a half circle at the village edge, facing inwards towards the hanging tree, the villagers in front of the mounted men. Steve hoped that one day it would regain its former name, but he felt it would be a long time coming. There was a pause, the condemned man held in place, still struggling, and many looked to Steve.

Steve shook his head. This was no time for a speech, and he had no words to ease the pain.

There was a final muffled noise of appeal, and then the villagers mobbed him, Ceria and Kegan leading them. For a moment it seemed they might tear him apart, forgoing the hanging, but then the rope was seized, and a dozen hands heaved on it, sending the captive flying into the air where he jerked and danced, choking through his gag. His legs would have kicked frantically, but they were still bound, so all he could do was buck in place as his bruised face slowly turned purple. A raven cawed, the only sound to be heard besides his death.

Steve watched, not looking away from what he had wrought. The crimes committed were brutal, without empathy, and so was the punishment. He would watch, and know that he would do it again if necessary. His banner fluttered in the breeze beside him, held upright by Ren.

It was a slow death, no broken neck to speed things along, but in time the rapist went limp, struggles ceasing. Despite this, no move was made to let the corpse down, and the rope was tied off to a lower branch, leaving it hanging. The body was left for the crows as all present began to drift away, exhausted by the experience.

Quiet orders were given, and a camp was set up outside the village. They would make use of their tents, and no soldier would enter the village unsupervised, let alone be billeted within. Supplies retrieved were handed over, and the worries of many were eased. The eyes of more lingered on the banner staked by the camp. They would remember the white star and the man who bore it.

The next morning, Steve and his men departed, bearing west. They had been in the Reach for two weeks now, taken two holdfasts and functionally destroyed a force larger than their own. It was a good start, but the truth of the work was yet to begin. The Blueburn and its supply camp were waiting, and so were the Reachmen defending it. Lord America didn’t intend to leave them waiting for long.