A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kedry.” “Hugo.” “Humfrey.” “Arland.” “Artys.” “Ortys.” “Harwin.” “Yorick.” “Henry.” “Robin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is,” the guard said, almost happily now.

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

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

“Don’t tell me there’s an army of Crownlanders here,” Harwin complained. “I fucken’ hate Crownlanders.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here’s to us,” Steve said, raising his mug to the others.

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

“Don’t drown now,” Arland told his friend.

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

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

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

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

“What about Lady Eleanor though?” one man was asking, dreamlike, “There’s a beauty.”

“Like you’ve got a chance,” someone scoffed.

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

“Wouldn’t mind Florianing her Jonquil, if you know what I mean,” another said, snickering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...hear that Lord America is with the rebels?”

Steve’s interest sharpened.

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

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

“Came from where? Pull the other one. He ain’t got no army.”

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

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

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

“Worth it, I’d say,” Robin said, sincerity shining through the ribbing.

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

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

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

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

“What do you think?” Steve asked of his companion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“By force of arms?”

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

“You wouldn’t break guest right,” Keladry said, sure of it.

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

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

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

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

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

“Room for mistakes, or high tempers.”

“Mmm,” Steve said, considering. “If we want to grab someone outside the keep, there’s his daughter.”

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

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

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

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

“Lord Stokeworth could go either way,” Kel said.

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

Kel gave him a look.

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

“So you take her in the keep,” Kel said.

“And we’re back to square one.”

“Mmm.”

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

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

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

Steve raised his brows, suggestive.

“My lord,” she said, reproving.

“He’s hardly going to miss his own feast,” Steve said.

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

“But if we’re lucky, we could roll up all the leadership,” Steve said.

“You think we’ll be lucky?”

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

“And if we can’t?” Kel asked.

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

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

Steve grinned at her. “What, you don’t like a little excitement in your life Delnaimn?”

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

“I thought we might try asking,” Steve said.

“Of course.”

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

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

X

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...telling you, there’s sommat off about them,” came the voice of one of the men standing guard.

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

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

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

“No law against that.”

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

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

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

“Maybe.”

“The small one just looked this way again. I’m tellin’ you-!”

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

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

“What? Randall?”

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

“Fuck’s sake Randall,” the other guard said, more muttering to himself than anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“None,” Kel said.

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

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

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

“Aye captain,” Humfrey said, and Harwin nodded with him.

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

“Politely, Harwin,” Steve reminded the knight.

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

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

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

“All sorted, captain,” the big man reported.

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

X

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

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

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

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

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

“How deep in their cups are they?” Kel asked.

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

“Stokeworth?”

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

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

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

“Aye captain,” came the quiet replies.

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

“Aye captain.”

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

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

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

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

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