A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

A terrible smile graced Thanos' visage. "I am inevitable." His fingers snapped--and nothing happened. Confusion bloomed.

Tony Stark stared him down, heart heavy with duty. "And I...am...Iro--"

Heavy boots hit the scorched earth next to him, lightning crackling in the air. "No," Thor said. He laid a hand on the shoulder of the Man of Iron.

Steve Rogers joined them, bruised, bloodied, shield shattered and hammer heavy, but still standing tall. "We," he said, grasping Stark's other shoulder. The Stones pulsed, each to its own beat.

Thanos lunged for them, denial and wrath on his face.

"We are Avengers," they spoke, and Stark's fingers snapped.

And then things went sideways.

X x X

Steve came awake as he was dunked in freezing waters. He gasped and narrowly avoided inhaling a lungful of salt, automatically treading water. His broken shield was on his arm, and he reassured himself the straps would hold.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon, bathing the sky in pink and orange.

For a brief moment, there was a flash of colour across the sun, but then it was gone.

He could see the barest hint of land far off in the distance, and he began a steady stroke.

Questions on how he came to be here could wait. For now, survival came first. Thank the Lord his shield was lighter than it had any right to be.

The sun was close to setting when he finally made landfall. He staggered drunkenly, exhaustion playing heavily on his mind as he escaped the surf. Even starting fresh, that swim would have taxed him, and to make it after fighting Thanos and his army…

He sank to his knees once he made it clear of the tide, taking deep gasping breaths. He needed one of Stark’s feasts, and then he would sleep for a week. The whinny of a horse caught his ear, and he raised his head laboriously to look towards it. A sizeable party of men clad in leathers were trotting towards him. Curiously, they bore spears and shields. In no time at all, they were circling around him, speaking in a language foreign to his ears.

Some seemed nervous, but then one pointed at him with his spear and laughed.

“I don’t suppose you fellas speak English?” he asked. His shield was heavy on his arm, but he refused to release it.

The leader spoke again, and this time Steve felt like he was closer to understanding it. He was reminded of the time Nat had shown him a video about Old English.

“Parlez vous anglais? Sprichst du Englisch?” he asked. His head was heavy, and he was beginning to grow dizzy. Last time he felt this awful was after he was fished out of the Potomac.

One of the men dismounted and approached, while the rest watched him warily. The man stopped just out of arm’s reach, spear gripped tightly. He spoke, and he had the air of a man asking questions. He repeated himself, gesturing with his spear.

“Steve Rogers. Captain America,” he said, dragging the words out like a beast from a tar pit. He began to tilt forward, overbalancing until his head was pressed to the sand. He clung to wakefulness, but the beach might just have been the most comfortable thing he had ever encountered, and he was lost to sleep.

X x X

He woke with the paranoia of a soldier, his breath even and his senses sharp. He could feel the warmth of the morning sun on his skin, and hear the quiet bustle of a village. He was viscerally reminded of a small French hamlet that he and the Commandos had hidden in during the War, and for a moment he could believe that they would be waiting for him if he would but open his eyes. A purple face appeared in his mind’s eye and the moment was ruined.

A heavenly scent drifted past him, and his nose twitched. He could have recovered his feigned sleep, but his stomach chose to roar with the fury of a hundred sober troopers on overnight leave. The footsteps of a woman or small man paced towards him, and he opened his eyes a crack to take in his surroundings.

He lay in a bed in a rustic cottage, in a single large room that served as bedroom, dining room and kitchen. A pot of stew over a fire was the source of the divine smell, and he began to salivate. His stomach rumbled once more. He made to rise from the bed, only to stiffen as the massive ache that was his body protested. Forget the day after he was dragged from the Potomac, he’d felt better after a few of his scraps back in Brooklyn.

Laboriously, Steve attempted to rise, only for his body to rebel. He had a flashback to Colonel Phillips scowling at him as he attempted a second pushup. Using the Gauntlet had done a number on him, and he could only imagine how Tony was feeling. Thor would probably be just as cheerful as always, the spritely so-and-so. With great effort, he managed to swing his legs out from under the rough blanket and over the edge of the small bed, slowly rising into a slump with his head in his hands. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he took a moment to breathe.

The footsteps he had heard came to a stop as their maker entered the cottage. They belonged to a young woman, a basket full of clothes on one hip. She said something, and it had the sound of a greeting.

“I’m sorry Miss,” Steve said. “Seems like I’m far from home.”

The woman muttered to herself, placing the basket down in the corner before taking up a bowl and spoon from the table and making for the pot on the fire. Filling it with stew, she approached and took a seat on the edge of the bed next to him.

Slowly, carefully, Steve accepted the bowl from the woman, bringing the spoonful of juicy meat and tender potato to his lips. Liquid ambrosia washed over his taste buds, and he did away with the spoon entirely, simply lifting the bowl up and pouring it down his gullet. In moments, it was empty, and his eyes zeroed in on the pot still gently simmering on the fire. The woman’s eyebrows rose slightly, but she took the bowl with a sigh and moved to refill it.

The pot would be near empty by the time his hunger was sated, and his arms trembling with the effort of raising the bowl to his mouth each time.

“Thank you,” Steve said, looking around for a sink, or laundry bucket, or something that indicated a washing station. None were to be seen, but the woman took the bowl from his hands and put it with several other used dishes on the small table. Good thing too; he didn’t like his chances of getting to his feet without falling off them. “My name is Steve Rogers,” he said, slowly and clearly. “Captain America. Where am I?”

The woman shrugged, and said something in the local language that he couldn’t understand, before spouting off what sounded like names and a title. Despite the few times he had heard it, he was beginning to get an ear for the way it rose and fell over a sentence, as well as what might be linking words and conjunctions.

“Steve Rogers,” he repeated, tapping himself on the chest. Then he pointed to her. “You?”

“Naerys Waters,” she said, pointing at herself. “Steve Rogar,” she said, pointing at him.

“Rogers,” Steve repeated.

“Rogers. Steve,” Naerys said, smiling. Her eyes had the faintest hint of purple to them, but otherwise were a clear blue, and her dark blonde hair spoke of a life spent in the elements with its coarseness. Her hands lacked the calluses of hard labour though, and she had no scars that weren’t potentially covered by a simple handmade dress.

“Blanket,” Steve said, holding up the blanket that had covered him. “Pillow,” he said, pointing at it.

Naerys eyes lit up, and she repeated what he had said, before using her own word for each, pointing in turn. Dutifully, Steve repeated them, fixing them in his mind. They went around the small cottage, Naerys bringing him all sort of common implements and naming them. When they ran out of simple items that could be named without confusion, they moved on to body parts.

“Hair,” Steve said.

“Hair,” Naerys said, before saying a new word.

“Head.”

“Head,” Naerys repeated.

“Eyes, nose, lips.”

“Eyes nose lips.” Again, the local words came.

Steve grinned. They were moving fast. At this rate, he’d be able to have a simple conversation within the week.

Naerys grinned back, joy at the chance of learning something new clear in her eyes. Going by what he could see, wherever he was didn’t have a lot of technology. Could be he was the most exciting thing to happen...wherever this was, for some time.

“Ch-” Steve’s eyes dipped as he placed a hand on his chest, and he realised Naerys’ dress had slipped, revealing more than she would perhaps be comfortable with. “Stomach,” he said, trying to look natural as his hand moved down to his gut.

“Stomach?” Naerys said, a questioning tilt to her words. Mischief was worn openly on her face, and Steve felt his gut sinking. She cupped her breasts through her dress, smirking as she said the word for them.

“Stomach,” Steve said firmly, tapping it, before reluctantly tapping his chest as well. “Chest.” The 21st century had inured him to certain behaviours, but bluntness like this was still guaranteed to get a reaction out of him. He coughed, before pointing vaguely to Naerys’ torso. “Breasts.”

She laughed, pointing at the faintest of blushes on his face. Alas, control of involuntary reactions wasn’t quite something the serum had given him control over. The laugh turned into a snort, and now it was Steve’s turn to smirk. Hand covering her mouth, she looked momentarily mortified, before turning a glare on him. Nat would have gotten a kick--

His good mood soured as he thought of Natasha. She had died only hours ago from his perspective. He didn’t even know if anyone else had fallen in the final clash with Thanos.

Next to him, Naerys picked up on his mood, and her smile faded. She tapped his leg, and said a word.

“Leg,” Steve said. Focus on the now. Grieve later.

It took three days for Steve to be able to stand on his own two feet, and another after that for him to do so without dark spots at the edges of his vision. Naerys watched over him with more concern than some nurses he’d met after his transformation, bringing him food every few hours. At the rate he was going he would eat her out of house and home; he would have to make it up to her. Not everyone could afford to put on a spread like Tony.

Steve breathed deeply as he completed another circuit of the small dwelling, savouring the smoothness of it. He could breathe easily without it catching in his chest, and his arms no longer trembled after a meal. He was ready.

“Naerys,” he said, gaining the woman’s attention. She looked up from the sock she was darning by the fireplace. “I go for a walk. Yes?” His grasp of the language was simple, but improving quickly.

The woman thought for a moment, before nodding. “I come with you,” she said, putting the sock down.

“It is fine,” Steve said, shaking his head. She had put too much effort into helping him already; if he could survive leaving the house without an escort in Brooklyn he could survive here. Wherever here was.

Naerys spouted off a quick mess of words with a smirk, deliberately using words Steve had yet to learn.

The super soldier sighed in defeat. It was hard to argue when you were reduced to charades, and waiting as Naerys laced up the simple sandals that she wore whenever she left the house. He led the way as they departed the cottage that had been his world for almost the last week, Naerys almost hovering at his side. A smile came to his face as he soaked in the sun and the breeze as they emerged, taking a moment to savour it. The breeze carried with it the fresh scent of the sea.

A village lay before him, muddy streets running hither and yon without any planning, all surrounding a squat castle that seemed to hug the ground. Gulls cawed in the air and the sound of waves crashing could be heard in the distance. His keen eyes could make out a man in armour slowly patrolling the ramparts, a spear resting on one shoulder. That...was not what he had expected, and he doubted he was stranded in a community of incredibly dedicated reenactment enthusiasts.

“To the water?” Steve asked. “Beach?” he said in English.

Naerys nodded. “Salt and water. Beach.”

They made their way steadily through the village, Steve’s height and frame garnering looks from those they passed. Compared to their thin, weathered forms, he was an Adonis come to earth, even in spite of the frayed, borrowed clothing he was wearing. As they went, Naerys continued to point at things and give him the words for them in her language, which Steve dutifully repeated. His diligence over the past days had been taken well, and her enthusiasm had helped him progress faster than he otherwise would have. The politeness with which he had treated her hadn’t hurt either. He got the feeling it was something she wasn’t used to.

Some people just didn’t know how to treat a dame.

Here and there Steve noticed a crumbling wall, or a roof with an obvious patch job. Wherever he was, they weren’t doing too well for themselves. Isolation was one thing, but that didn’t feel like the right answer. He knew there were places even today where one could go and feel like they had stepped back to a time of horse drawn carts, but this was something else. Even for a village out of time, it felt run down, like it was struggling to get by. He didn’t like what that might mean for what it had cost Naerys to keep him fed.

He threw off the dreary thoughts. They path they were on had reached the beach, opening up onto a sad stretch of sand that would have looked more at home in England than America. Still, it was a change of scenery from the cottage, and Steve luxuriated in the feeling of the sand between his toes. Naerys hovered at his side, as if he might keel over at any moment.

“This place, name?” Steve asked.

“Sharp Point,” Naerys said. Stepping forward, she knelt down and began to trace a shape in the damp sand. “Westeros,” she said, pointing at it.

“Westeros,” Steve repeated, squatting beside her. Was that the name of the country he found himself in? It was not the name of a place he knew, but it very well could just be the name the locals had for it.

Naerys was watching him carefully, as if searching for something. She pointed out to the ocean, to the east. “Essos?”

“Essos,” Steve repeated dutifully. The word for east, maybe? No, she would have listed the other directions at the same time.

Naerys frowned, as if considering something that made no sense. She began to divide up the first shape she had drawn, and then pointed at each section in turn. “The North. Riverlands. The Vale. Westerlands. Iron Islands. Crownlands. The Reach. Dorne.”

States then. Or maybe countries in their own right. “Sharp Point where?” he asked.

Naerys pointed to a spit of land on the east coast of Westeros, in the Crownlands.

“Who?” Steve asked, pointing at the castle.

“Captain Bar Emmon of Sharp Point,” Naerys said.

So there was a local garrison run by a captain. Were they in charge of the whole village, or did they report to a civilian council? Steve couldn’t help but feel there was something he was missing.

“Sharp Point, Bar Emmon,” Steve said. Then he pointed at the basic map. “Westeros, who?”

“Aerys Targaryen,” Naerys said, then a word Steve didn’t know. “--of Westeros.”

Steve repeated the word, questioning.

Naerys thought for a moment, then drew something else in the sand. After a moment, Steve saw that it was a crown.

“Aerys Targaryen man, woman?” Steve asked.

“Man,” she said.

“King Aerys Targaryen,” Steve confirmed. A King, then. Of the monarchies that were still around, he could think of only a few that actually ruled, and none of them were European. His gut told him he was more than just missing something.

“America?” he asked, pointing at the map outline.

Naerys shook her head. “I do not know.”

“Iron Man? Thor? Hulk? Falcon? Scarlet Witch?” he asked, voice level. “Thanos?”

Naerys just shook her head again. “I am sorry.”

Steve shook his head slowly. Kansas hadn’t just been left behind, it wasn’t even in his rear view mirror. And now all his work at catching up on references were for nothing. A laugh escaped his throat. Well. Wasn’t that something.

The Stones and the Gauntlet were responsible for this, that much he could assume. And he’d seen a flash of light when he was first dunked in the sea not even a week ago. It had been orange - dammit, which Stone had that been? Soul? Were Stark and Thor somewhere in this land with him? If they were, they’d be easy to find at least. All he’d have to do was follow the explosions.

There was always another struggle. He had overcome every challenge from Brooklyn to now, and he wasn’t about to falter. He could worry later. Right now, he had to regain his strength. He would decide what to do next after that.

As much as he would like to spend more time outside, he didn’t want to keep Naerys from her work any longer. Maybe he would sneak out later on his own. With a groan, he rose to his feet, and they began to make their way back towards the village.

There was cursing in the air as they strolled back to Naerys’ cottage. Whatever the language, a soldier knew cursing when they heard it, and an old man was swearing a blue streak further down the path they travelled. There was a cart stuck in the mud, and a mule struggling to pull it out. The greybeard was pushing at it without luck. As Steve and Naerys drew near, he noticed them but said nothing, continuing to push at his cart.

“Here sir, let me help you with that,” Steve said, slipping back into English unwittingly.

The old man stared at him. “Eh?”

Rather than stumble through an explanation, Steve put words into action and stepped up to the cart. He may be weak and recovering, but the day he didn’t offer help to those who needed it...with a groan, both from his body and the cart, the mud relinquished its grasp on the wheels with a sucking sound, and the mule stumbled forward with a suddenly lighter burden.

The old man let out a pleased laugh, slapping Steve on the back. He spat a quick stream of words from the side of his mouth, somehow managing to make them sound like a completely different language to what Naerys had been teaching him. Steve just looked to Naerys with a raised brow, asking for help.

Naerys smiled, and spoke to the greybeard. The man listened, a frown growing on his face, before realisation spread across it. He pointed at Steve and asked a question, and Naerys answered. He thought for a long moment, and then came to a decision.

Reaching into his cart, he pulled out a sack that stank of salt and vinegar and handed it to Naerys. She tried to decline, but the man insisted, speaking further.

“What he say?” Steve asked.

With a sigh, Naerys accepted the sack, and turned to Steve. “Corbin give food, I give coin. My coin...small. For meat, you work. Make…” she turned and pointed at the stone wall that lined the path. “Wall. Help make wall.”

“Yes,” Steve said without hesitation. “Thank you,” he told Corbin. “I help.”

Corbin nodded, clapped Steve on the back again, and moved over to his mule, taking it by the lead. Free from the mud, they departed quickly.

“Thank you, Steve Rogers,” Naerys said, almost saying his name as one word. “Coin...hard.”

“You help me,” Steve said. “I help you.”

Naerys gave him a small smile, and they continued on towards her home.

X x X

They had not been back for more than five minutes when there was a knock on the door, three quick raps. Naerys made it to the door before Steve could do more than rise from bed, opening it to reveal a young lady carrying a basket on one hip. The basket was quickly discarded as the two women exchanged a hug, a flurry of conversation passing between them. Steve watched as the newcomer glanced at him, her eyes sly as she said something to Naerys with a smirk. Naerys slapped her lightly on the shoulder and shook her head, before pointing at the basket and asking a question. The woman answered, and his host turned to face him.

“Steve Rogers, your clothes,” Naerys said, bringing the basket over and setting it before him.

His clothes. With a start, Steve realised he’d barely spared a thought for the armour he had arrived in. Eagerly, he opened the basket to reveal his outfit, white star proudly placed at the top. He ran a hand over it. It was clean, with little trace of the filth of battle or salt that would have encrusted it after his little day long swim. It even smelt faintly of lavender.

“Thank you,” he said, looking at the woman. He smiled at her. “Very good.”

The woman met his eyes and seemed to stutter for a moment, until Naerys poked her in the side. She swatted her back, and then gave a curtsey, before retreating from the cottage, closing the door on her way out.

Naerys snorted, coming over to inspect the basket with him. Her gaze was faintly awed. “Your clothes. Much coin?”

“Yes,” Steve said. “Much coin.”

“You are King?”

“No, just a Captain,” Steve said quickly. Him, a King. That would be the day. Although his Ma had always told him he could be President if he wanted to…

Lifting his costume from the basket, he checked it piece by piece, inspecting it for damage. Whoever had cleaned it had done what they could, but they clearly lacked the equipment, let alone the knowledge, to make any repairs. He could see slashes and breaks where Thanos had struck him, and as he looked up on them he could almost feel each blow again. Helm, chest piece, trousers, boots, gloves. All present, all in good enough working order, but…. no shield. His shield was not amongst his gear.

“Where is my shield,” Steve said. It was not a question.

Naerys’ back straightened at his tone. “This is not all?”

“No. I had a shield. Broken. This,” he tapped the star on his chest piece, “on shield. Where?”

“Do not know. You swim with shield?” Naerys asked.

“My shield. My weapon,” Steve said. His fists clenched. “I had it on beach.”

Naerys suddenly looked worried. “Captain Bar Emmon…” she trailed off.

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Bar Emmon has it? Would he...take?”

“Maybe,” Naerys said, tilting a hand back and forth. “Little coin in Sharp Point. Your clothes, much coin. Your weapon…”

“I see Bar Emmon,” Steve said. “You take me?”

“Today, less good. He drinks,” Naerys said. “Tomorrow, more good.”

Steve let out a sigh. As much as he wanted to demand answers immediately, he could see the wisdom in waiting. “We go tomorrow.”

X x X

They rose with the sun the next morning, and broke their fast with bread and cheese, discussing their plan for approaching Bar Emmon. There was not much to plan, in truth - they would make themselves known at the gates of the castle, and request an audience.

“Will he meet us?” Steve asked as he made his bed.

“Meet, yes,” Naerys said. She was getting dressed behind a curtain of sheets that hung from the rafters. “Hear…” she trailed off, a shrug in her voice.

Steve frowned, but said nothing. Until he met the man, there was little he could plan for or assume. Maybe the Captain was trying to have the shield repaired, although he snorted at the idea of a simple blacksmith being able to work vibranium. Still, he would have to at least decide how to present himself to the Captain of the castle. On the bed lay two sets of clothes; the simple tunic and trousers Naerys had given him, and his suit.

The suit slipped on like an old friend, and Steve fell into a reverie as he buckled it on. The weight of it was comforting, and for a moment he felt like he could look over his shoulder and see his team waiting for orders. His headpiece he clipped to his belt.

Naerys emerged from behind the privacy curtain, mouth open to speak, and stopped cold. Her eyes traced him, a hint of colour in her cheeks. She seemed to have forgotten what she was going to say.

“Your dress looks nice,” Steve said, breaking her from her hesitation. The dress was well tailored to her, sea blue with white trim. From what Steve had seen of the villagers, it was probably the most expensive item of clothing in the village, save perhaps the castle.

“Thank you,” Naerys said. “It was a gift from my father.” She shook herself. “We go.”

“Lead the way,” Steve said.

Their path through the village drew stares, just as much at Naerys than at Steve. He could faintly pick up muttered conversations in their wake. This was almost as bad as Brooklyn back in the day, when he had stepped out with Liz O’Rourke on their one and only ‘date’.

They reached the castle in short order, standing before a closed portcullis. There was a sole guard atop the wall, a hoary man leaning on a spear looking down on them.

The guard shouted a command, a call to identify themselves to Steve’s ear.

“Naerys Waters,” Naerys called back.

Recognition crossed the man’s face. “And him?” he asked.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve said.

Naerys gave him an odd look, and the guard glanced dubiously at Steve’s suit, but he banged his spear on the stone of the wall.

“Open the gate,” he called, to someone out of sight.

After a moment, the portcullis began to rise with a grinding noise, and the two of them passed through to enter the castle when it rose high enough. To Steve’s eye, the castle courtyard was nothing special, just an open space with packed dirt for sparring in the middle and a few stalls for horses on one side. A covered wooden walkway ran about the interior of the walls, out of sight from outside.

“Naerys girl,” the aging guard greeted as he came stumping down the steps to the courtyard. “What brings you here?”

“We wish to see Captain Bar Emmon, Garret,” Naerys said.

“Oh aye,” Garret said. “But why would he want to see you?”

“I will ask him about my shield,” Steve said. He grimaced at his grasp of the language.

Garret looked up - and up - at Steve. “Steve Rogers,” he said slowly. “That is not a Westerosi name.” He spoke more, but all Steve could make out was the tone of a question.

“He wants to know where you are from,” Naerys explained to Steve.

“America,” Steve said, tapping the star borne proudly on his chest.

Garret spat to the side, scowling. He spoke to Naerys quickly, too fast for Steve to make out, something Steve suspected was intentional. His tone was one of warning.

Naerys spoke dismissively, brushing away the warning.

“On your head,” Garret said, shrugging. He gave a piercing whistle, the noise ringing around the courtyard, and waited.

Moments later, a boy came jogging out from a side door in the courtyard, dressed in the rough weave of a peasant. “Ser?” he asked of Garret.

“Where is the Captain?” Garret asked.

“Breaking his fast with the merchant,” the boy replied. He glanced at Naerys, almost too quick to see.

“Go and see if he will take guests,” Garret ordered. “Quick now.”

The boy shot off at a run, a trail of dust in his wake.

“Best know what you’re doing, girl,” Garret said to Naerys. He stumped off, returning to his post on the wall where he could still keep an eye on them.

“This sounds...more,” Steve said.

Naerys lips were pursed. “Captain Bar Emmon is my cousin. My father was Captain Bar Emmon, but my mother was not his wife. I am…” she said a word he didn’t know.

“Born out of wedlock?” Steve asked.

“Out of wedlock?” Naerys repeated the word.

“Parents not married,” Steve said. “It happens.”

Naerys gave him another strange look. “Yes. It does.”

The boy returned, huffing and puffing. “Captain Bar Emmon will see you. Follow me.”

Conversation was put on hold as they followed, the boy leading them into the castle proper and up a flight of stone stairs. Steve smelt their destination before they saw it, the scent of rich meats and sauces drifting out from under the door. Almost in unison, Steve and the boy’s stomachs rumbled, and Steve shot the boy a conspirative grin. The boy ducked his head, but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips.

The boy knocked at the door, and waited.

“Yes, enter,” a voice called.

By habit, Steve led the way, taking in the room with a glance. The walls were mostly bare, save for windows, a banner of a blue swordfish on white and a few unlit torches. Two men sat at the head of a table, behind which was another door leading elsewhere. The table was loaded with food, far too much for them to eat alone. One of them had the build of a man who spent time exercising, and bore a resemblance to Naerys in his features. He wore clothes of fine make, but of ever so slightly fading colour. His gaze skipped over the servant boy entirely as he took in Steve and Naerys with a hint of distaste that would go unseen by the casual observer. Steve was not a casual observer.

His companion wore clothes just as finely made, but also clearly newer. Even so, they were ill fitting in their own way, their cut designed to flatter a man not quite so clearly gone to seed with paunch. He had eyes only for Naerys, raking up and down her body as he bit into a leg of chicken.

“Cousin,” Bar Emmon greeted Naerys. “How are you?”

“Well, my Captain,” Naerys said, curtseying slightly.

“Reynard was just asking after you,” Bar Emmon said, nodding at his companion. He spoke again, gesturing dismissively to Steve.

“Not at all,” Naerys said. She spoke to Reynard, smiling with all the sweetness of a viper as she mentioned Steve’s name.

A frown began to make its way across Steve’s face. He didn’t like what he was seeing here.

Still, he held his tongue. Causing problems would be a poor repayment for Naerys after what she had done for him.

“What brings you to my home this day?” Bar Emmon asked, spooning gravy over his plate.

Naerys glanced at Steve, and he answered. “My shield,” he said bluntly. “It is...special to me.”

Bar Emmon and Reynard shared a glance. “I am ---- we saw no shield when we pulled you from the sea,” he said. “Nor has one washed ------ while you have been in my cousin’s care.”

Steve stilled. That was a lie. His shield had been on his arm when he pulled himself to shore.

“You may not see it as a shield. It was a circle, but broken. Still strapped to my arm...like a shield,” Steve said, eyes narrowed.

“You say there was a shield. I say there was not. I am Captain Bar Emmon, ruler of Sharp Point. Who are you to argue with me, hmmm?” Bar Emmon said, leaning back in his seat.

“You can call me Captain America,” Steve said. “You have my shield.”

“You are very rude,” Bar Emmon said, “to speak to a Captain so in his own castle.” He gestured between Reynard and Naerys. “Here I was ------ the good news with my friend, and you--”

“You didn’t,” Naerys interrupted him, fighting to keep dismay and disgust from her face.

“Of course I did Naerys,” Bar Emmon said, wearing a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Reynard’s family is quite successful, and you cannot go on without a husband.”

Steve had heard enough. “Last chance,” he said.

Bar Emmon sneered. “Yes. Last chance.” He rapped sharply on the table, and the door behind them opened. A man at arms stepped through, and he was holding a crossbow, loaded and ready to fire. “I do not know how you do things in this ‘America’ of yours, but here, we give thanks to those who save our lives and return us to health.”

“I thanked Naerys, and will pay her,” Steve said. “Shield. Now.”

Bar Emmon gave a disgusted snort, spitting a rush of words, too fast for Steve to understand.

The crossbow came up, aimed squarely at his chest. Steve stepped forward with the suddenness of a super human, putting himself in front of Naerys and the servant boy. The man at arms flinched at the quick movement, finger squeezing the trigger against his will.

There was a twang and the bolt loosed. In the dark, by surprise, such an attack might have a chance of hitting its mark. In a well lit room, head on? Steve snatched the bolt from the air before it could hit him, and inspected it, before snapping the bolt in his clenched fist.

Slowly, he reached for his belt, unclipping his headpiece and tugging it on. The room held its breath as he did so, watching as he fastened the chinstrap.

He looked Bar Emmon in the eye, and spoke in English. “You should have just given me my shield.”

“Steve, he didn’t tell--”

Steve cut Naerys off by flipping the table, all two hundred odd pounds of it before counting the food. Meats, cheeses, gravies and breads went flying as the two men gave a shout of alarm before they were covered in food. Bullies were the same in every world, so it seemed. The only language they understood was violence.

Bar Emmon pushed the table back with a grunt of effort, but then Steve was on him, lifting him by the throat with one arm.

“Where is my shield.”

The man at arms dropped his crossbow and pulled a dagger, lunging at Steve, only to have his wrist seized and twisted. He dropped the blade with a pained cry and was thrown back, cradling his arm.

“Shield,” Steve repeated, tone calm and at odds with the state of the room. Frankly, he’d had bar brawls back in the War more exciting than this. Bar Emmon struggled with the grip at his throat.

Raynard oozed from his seat and scurried for the doom the man at arms had entered through, and Steve kicked Bar Emmon’s chair - more throne - to block it. It collided with a heavy thunk, and the merchant heaved on it without result.

Naerys stood frozen, hand over her mouth in slowly comprehending horror, while the servant boy was nowhere to be seen.

“I can pay you,” Raynard said quickly, words tumbling over each other. “There is no need for more -------.”

“Pay me with my shield,” Steve said.

“It’s gone,” Raynard said. “Already sent away.”

“Raynard!” Bar Emmon snarled, still fighting Steve’s grip.

Steve shook him like an unruly dog, and looked expectantly at the merchant.

“It was like nothing we’d seen, no steel would mark it,” Raynard babbled. “Not Valyrian steel, but something else. We sent it to the King as a gift yesterday!”

Steve felt a twist in his gut as the truth was revealed. He had only just gotten his shield back, and already it was taken from him, and getting farther away with every moment. He took a breath. The shield was only a shield, even if it was a one of a kind shield made of a unique metal that had been given to him by Howard and seen him through challenges beyond count and given to him again by Tony, and--he took a breath. Some folk just weren’t neighbourly these days.

Raynard took his silence poorly, fumbling at his belt. “I have coin, for my - our - safety, it is yours!”

Steve frowned at Raynard. He couldn’t say anyone had ever tried to bribe him like that for their safety before. Not since the War, at least. Ignoring the proffered coin purse, he continued his questioning.

“Which road did my shield go?” Steve asked. “Who did you send it with?”

Raynard looked to Bar Emmon; apparently the Captain was the one who had given the orders. The man met Steve’s gaze defiantly, raising his chin in challenge - as much as he could while held by the throat, at least. Without breaking eye contact, Steve began to squeeze. It was gentle, considering his strength, but Bar Emmon was soon wheezing with every breath.

Choking a man to death for a physical possession was not something he would do, but here in this new world, there were no preconceptions on what the noble Captain America would or wouldn’t do, and that meant he could be a bit more firm in his questions.

“Kingswood,” Bar Emmon said, choking the words out. “Through Kingswood to Kings Landing.”

Steve eased his grip immediately. “Thank you,” he said, before headbutting the man and letting him collapse in a heap. He looked around at the mess of a room and shook his head. “You should have just done the right thing son.”

The servant boy was gone, vanished in the excitement. That probably didn’t bode well for this little talk staying in the room. What to do...

It was time to leave. The front gate was only a short walk away, and he would be able to get himself and Naerys out without trouble, he was sure.

“Let’s go,” Steve said, leading the way out of the hall.

Naerys followed in a daze, the look of someone who has just sighted a sizeable boot hanging over their future plastered clear on her face.

They were out of the room and descending the staircase to the courtyard when Steve stopped.

“Naerys,” Steve said, breaking her out of her dark reverie. “I am sorry for going against your family like that, but…” he struggled with his words, trying and failing to describe his instinctive reaction to stand against bullies of all stripes and need to stand tall when tread upon.

A hollow laugh escaped Naerys. “He is not my family, not where it counts. He just tried to marry me off to that fat pig Reynard for some coin. Father made him promise before he --------- ---- -- ----- --- ----- -- --- -- ---- -”

As she devolved into angry muttering too fast for him to understand, Steve put a hand on her shoulder. “If you come with me, I will protect you.” The words were dramatic, more suited to some overwrought declaration of love in the theatre than the staircase they stood in, but he meant them. “You healed me. Taught me to speak. You did not leave me. I will not leave you behind.”

“Steve Rogers,” Naerys said, shaking her head, her manner making them seem like one name rather than two. “You are a rare man. Are there others like you in your America?”

Steve’s thoughts flashed to Bucky, to Tony and Thor, to a score of others who stood tall in the face of the Titan when the time came. “Many. One day I will see them again.” He pulled his thoughts back to the present. “But now, we must leave castle.”

Naerys nodded seriously, dread for her future banished for now. “There is a side gate we can sneak out We can go through the servant’s rooms, or through the soldiers rooms, the barracks. Both should be empty.”

Steve smirked, rolling his shoulders. “I was thinking we’d take the front door.”

There were five men in the courtyard waiting for them, loosely arranged around the exit. Three bore swords and shields, while two held spears. Garret, the older guard who had greeted them, was still atop the gate, and in his hands was a crossbow. Steve stepped out to meet them without fear or hesitation, and the men closest to him edged back. There was a pause as they took in the giant of a man and his strange garb, clearly armour but of a type they had never seen before.

“Surrender, Steve Rogers, and release Lady Waters,” Garret called out.

“I’m not his captive, Garret,” Naerys called.

Steve glanced at her. “He was giving you an out,” he said quietly.

“Not fair to you,” she said, shaking her head.

Garret spat off the wall, a grimace on his face. “It’s the dungeons for you Rogers, and if you come quietly you’ll avoid the rope.” His crossbow came up.

“Fellas, bigger things than you have tried,” Steve said. He stepped forwards, away from Naerys. He was unarmed, alone against six men, and utterly confident.

“Take him!” Garret shouted, taking his shot.

Steve caught the bolt and lunged forward, boot snapping up to catch the nearest guardsman in the shield. The man was flung back like a rag doll, knocking over one of the spearmen as he went. Steve was already turning to the next, catching a sword strike with his arm and elbowing him lightly in the jaw. The man collapsed, eyes rolling back in his head.

The first signs of fear were showing on the faces of the two still standing, and Garret was cursing them out as he cranked his crossbow for another shot. Steve took the shield off the fallen man before him and hefted it, before throwing it. It flew terribly, with none of the smooth precision of his own shield, but it caught Garret in the gut and knocked him on his arse, his crossbow dropped off the wall as he fell, wheezing.

The spearman who had been knocked down was back on his feet, and began to menace Steve with his fellow, both attempting to keep a distance between them and the man who was tossing them around like children. Steve feinted for one, then the other, before throwing the bolt he had caught at the last swordsman. The man flinched as it pierced his shield, and Steve was upon him, seizing him bodily and throwing him at the spearman he had already knocked down once.

He turned to the last man standing. The man’s eyes were wide like a spooked horse, and his spear was held in a white knuckled grip.

“Do you really want to do this?” Steve asked.

The man shook his head.

“Maybe you should help your friends,” Steve said, nodding to the groaning and senseless guards.

The man couldn’t drop the spear quick enough.

“You alive Garret?” he called up to the older man.

“Fuck you Rogers,” he groaned out. “Damn ----- of nature.”

Steve grinned at the answer. His blood wasn’t quite pumping, but the little scrap had been just what the doctor ordered after being abed for so long. “Do you want to check on him?” he asked Naerys.

Naerys was gaping at him openly, but closed her mouth with a click. “Yes. I will...do that.”

“Don’t be too long,” Steve said. “We need to leave.”

Naerys rushed off, heading for the stairs that would take her up atop the wall, and Steve took the opportunity to look around. They were in the courtyard of a man who had stolen something important to him, and by Steve’s counting, that demanded some creative requisition and recompense. Frankly, it reminded him of the War and his time with the Commandos.

There were a number of horse stalls, but only one occupied, although he thought he spied a saddle and tack. He could probably find a weapon of some sort too, and maybe something for Naerys. He would have to move quickly, she was already crouched over Garret and fussing.

The horse was a must; he might be able to jog through the wilderness for weeks but Naerys could not. Experience from the War came in handy, as he went through the half remembered motions of saddling it up, scratching it behind the ears as he did so. It was a mottled grey colour, and it looked strong and healthy enough to his untrained eye. He took a few bags of oats too, enough to keep the horse fed for a week or two if it were allowed to graze well.

As he finished saddling the horse, a hammer resting in the corner of the stall caught his eye. It looked to have been used for cracking rocks at one point, with a broad head and an oaken shaft. Steve picked it up and held it easily in one hand, inspecting it. It would do to deter those who might think unarmed travellers to be easy prey.

He considered taking a spear for a moment, for Naerys if nothing else, but dismissed the idea. The hafts were heavy, and unsuited to someone of her slight build.

Naerys returned, a sad smile on her face. “Garret said the men taking your shield were told to be safe over fast, so we might catch them before Kings Landing.”

Steve glanced up at Garret, to find the man had propped himself up against the parapet and was glaring down at him. He gave him a nod in thanks and received a rude gesture for his troubles.

“Is there anything else we need before we leave?” Steve asked.

“One thing. I just need to stop by my home,” Naerys said.

They walked the horse out of the main gates of the castle, the last guardsman standing watching the skittishly, and made their way through the village. They received looks and left mutters in their wake as before, but word did not seem to have spread from the castle as to his actions there.

A frown crossed Steve’s face as something occurred to him. “Damn.”

“What is it?” Naerys asked, concerned.

“I told Corbin I would build his wall,” Steve said.

“I can pay him, since we are leaving the village,” Naerys said.

Steve’s frown deepened. “I will pay you back.”

“I believe you,” she said. “I do not think you will be poor for long, Captain America.” They reached her cottage. “Wait here.”

Naerys disappeared inside her home for several minutes as Steve waited outside, greeting passersby and curious neighbours with a polite smile. When Naerys emerged, she was no longer clad in her fine blue dress but in one more practical, and carried a small lockbox with her, stowing it quickly amongst the oats in the horse’s saddlebags.

“I’ve never left Sharp Point before,” she said, her tone almost wondering. “I wonder what’s out there.”

“Many things,” Steve said, boosting her up onto the horse. She gave a small shriek of surprise as he lifted her and sat her side saddle on the horse, but quickly adjusted. “Let’s find out,” he said with a grin.

He might be in a strange new world, once again wrenched from all that was familiar without warning, separated from his comrades and without support, but he was feeling optimistic. It was time to see what Westeros held for him.

Naerys answered his grin with one of her own, and they set out, leaving behind them a furious Lord, brewing trouble, and the seeds of a legend.