A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

The training yard was crowded that morning, knights, men at arms, and squires all finding some excuse for their business to bring them there. Some sparred, others maintained their gear, but most had come to watch the Bold spar with the strange foreign warrior. Some were more blatant about their interest than others, crowding respectfully around the outside of the main sparring ring as the two warriors within sized each other up.

“I’ve been looking forward to this, young man,” Barristan said. He held a dull sword loosely in his main hand, and he was clad in a dull cuirass and simple arming doublet, fit only for the training yard. Still, no warrior worth their salt would dismiss him as a threat.

“I hope you weren’t kept up with nerves,” Steve said, smirking. It had been a long time since he’d been able to spar for the sake of fun, and the audience here was bringing out the worst in him. He was wearing the peasant clothes he had worn on the road from Sharp Point, and had borrowed a cuirass that fit him ill. “I’m told it’s perfectly normal.” God, Buck would think this was a hoot. Some jeering and calls came from the spectators, hands slapping on the wood railing at the banter, but his focus was on his foe.

Barristan’s sword flicked out, almost casually, and Steve swayed back to avoid it’s tip. He stepped forward, seeking to get inside the knight’s guard, but the blade was already waiting. He caught it on his shield, using the jagged edge to try and twist it from Barristan’s hands even as he struck out with his free fist. Selmy slipped his sword free, taking it out of play for the moment, even as his quick footwork to the left took him away from Steve’s strike and further to his shield side. They broke away, taking each other’s measure once more. The whole exchange had taken little more than a second.

“That shield certainly is something,” Barristan said. “I can see well why you would chase it across the realm.”

“It’s one of a kind,” Steve said, as they began to circle each other. They had come to an unspoken agreement, with Barristan not going all out on the attack with his sword and Steve only using his shield for defence. Another quick exchange of blows followed, as Barristan feinted an attack that had his blade seeming to be in two places at once, and Steve was forced to outright slap it off course as he skipped aside. There was an excited murmur from the spectators.

“You’ve never used a sword before, have you,” Barristan asked. This time he was the one on the defence, as Steve probed his guard with a flurry of blows, seeking to take his sword out of play with his shield.

“Can’t say they’re all that common in my homeland,” Steve said. He almost jumped up into a double kick by instinct, aborting them at the last moment as unsuitable for their spar, but Barristan read the moves and responded to them. Taking the opportunity, Steve lashed out and tapped the knight on his shoulder with his hand.

“Point to you,” Barristan said with a rueful grin, before they stepped apart and reset.

There were some confused comments from the peanut gallery, but Barristan had seen what Steve had done to the Smiling Knight. A blow like that could have broken his collarbone.

“But you say swords are not a common weapon?” the knight continued. “Truly?”

“Just the way it goes, I guess,” Steve said, as they began testing each other once more. “One of my comrades fought with a hammer, and then an axe. Did more with them than any sword I can imagine.”

“He must have been a mighty warrior to stand as one of your champions,” Barristan said. He stepped forward suddenly, grasping the blade of his sword with one hand in a move Steve wasn’t expecting and turning it about to strike him in the face with the hilt.

“Thor was a uh, thunderous warrior all right,” Steve said, barely catching the surprising blow, and almost tripping as Barristan’s footwork fouled his own. There was a ‘tink’ of metal on metal and he looked down to see the tip of Barristan’s sword by his gut. “Point to you.”

“This old dog still has some tricks,” Barristan said, saluting with his sword.

“Let’s see if you can teach me some then,” Steve said, grinning.

Conversation was put on hold, as they focused on the matter at hand. For the next hour, the two men fought their way around the ring at a steady pace, neither bringing their all to bear, but instead using what tricks and sly moves they had picked up over a hundred battlefields to score a point on the other. Their bout, such as it was, was inconclusive in the end, as all involved had been too caught up in the display of skill to keep track of the points.

“Much as I wish otherwise, I must call an end to this bout,” Barristan said. He was breathing deeply and evenly, sweat gleaming on his brow. “I have duties I must attend to, and if this were to go on, the only position I might guard would be my bed,” he joked.

Steve wiped his own brow clear of sweat, breathing lightly. “Good workout,” he said. “We’ll have to do this again.”

“Yes, but not too often,” Barristan said, as he handed his sword off to a squire that rushed up. “I need to keep some tricks up my sleeve should we face each other at Harrenhal.”

“You’ll be attending then?” Steve asked.

“Of course,” Barristan said with a grin. “Can’t let you young upstarts through without a challenge.”

“So you say, grandfather,” Steve said.

Barristan scoffed. “Speaking of young upstarts...Ser Jaime!” he called, looking out into the watching crowd. It had only grown over the course of their match. “Keep the good Lord America occupied, would you?

Jaime Lannister grinned as he ducked through the barrier to the ring. “I would be happy to, Ser,” he said, sword already in hand.

Steve watched the kid approach, full of vim and vigour and eager to spar. To burst his bubble, or not?

Ah, hell. He’d give the kid the spar he wanted.

“I hope you’re not too tired, Steve,” Jaime said. He was fairly bouncing on his feet, an eager gleam in his eyes. “It would be a shame--” and he lunged forward, sword seeking Steve’s thigh, “--if you were to be slowing down!”

Steve jumped and spun in midair, his boot coming within an inch of Jaime’s nose as the kid darted back. “You’ll have to get up earlier in the morning if you want to catch me off guard with moves like that, kid,” he said as he landed easily.

Jaime’s brows were raised, and their audience was murmuring too. “I can see how you slew the Smiling Knight with a single punch,” he said, almost speaking to the crowd more than Steve.

“Less chatting, more fighting,” Steve said, beckoning him forward. “Or I’ll put you to some more hand to hand drills.”

“How ominous,” Jaime said, sharp green eyes belying his casual attitude. Then he stepped forward, and the fight was on.

Jaime didn’t have the endurance of Barristan, and he was quicker to fight harder, so their bout did not last as long, but it was a good fight, and their audience seemed to appreciate it. Steve ‘won’ the spar more conclusively, but the young knight had still managed to score a number of blows of his own. Steve shook Jaime’s hand as they called an end to their spar.

“A fine bout!” a knight called from outside the ring. “Will you continue, Lord America?”

“I think I’ll let someone else take the stage,” Steve said, taking a deep breath. Looking around, there were almost forty men having gathered to watch the spars, and even a few ladies looking down from balconies above the yard. “I’ve been knocked around by enough knights today I think.”

His words earned a small appreciative cheer, and he stepped out of the ring, clearing the way for the next combatants. A squire rushed up to help him with his cuirass, elbowing a number of his fellows out of the way in the scrum to be there first.

“Thanks,” Steve told the boy helping with the armour. “Do you run messages, or is that someone else’s job?”

“I can take a message for you ser,” the squire said. He had red hair and freckles that made Steve think he lived on the coast.

“Can you find Naerys Waters and ask her if she’d like to come to the Street of Steel with me now? Ask her about the Smiling Knight’s armour we were going to sell too,” Steve said.

“Right away ser,” the boy said. He took the cuirass off to a rack of dirty armour, and then ran from the courtyard at a quick jog.

Steve wandered over towards the stables, content to wait for Naerys, or word from her. He could make the sale himself, but Naerys would know how to get a better deal, and he wasn’t the only one who needed to buy something. Some travelling clothes, for one. As it was, all he had was his armour, the clothes he wore to the feast last night, and the clothes he wore during their journey from Sharp Point, and they were still ripe with the scent of travel after a wash.

Surreptitiously, Steve sniffed at himself. The near two hours of exercise and sparring might have something to do with their smell too. He eyed a large barrel of water nearby, and made a decision.

X x X

When Naerys arrived some fifteen minutes, she was wearing a modest dress she had brought from her home, and followed by a pair of burly servants carrying what looked to be their loot from the Kingswood Brotherhood.

“I sent a runner for the stable master to ready our horses,” Naerys said. “They should be ready soon.”

Steve nodded. “How was your morning?” he asked. “I tried to avoid waking you when I left.”

“Oh, that’s--good,” Naerys said, playing with a lock of her hair. “I was able to watch the end of your match with Ser Selmy. It was very impressive.”

“Thanks,” Steve said. “You keep up your training and you could get just as good.”

Almost instinctively, Naerys made to deny it. “I don’t expect - do you think so?” She seemed to have something weighty on her mind.

“No reason why not,” Steve said, shrugging. “They might not be eager for women to fight here from what I’ve seen, but that’s no reason not to learn.”

“I have been enjoying our lessons,” Naerys said. “In that case yes, I would appreciate continuing. Those gossips can go - mind their own business.”

He wasn’t a mind reader, but Steve thought she might have been about to say something else. “Wide mouths, small minds,” he said.

“What?” Naerys asked, with a laugh.

“Something my ma used to say,” he said. “Here come the horses,” he gestured as they were led towards them by a pair of stable hands. The horse they had acquired from Sharp Point weeks ago went to Naerys, while the larger one he had seized from the Brotherhood went to Steve. It was a fine white animal, even to Steve’s inexperienced eye, and Barristan had said it probably belonged to someone who had run afoul of the outlaws. He mounted up easily, stroking its neck.

“I should probably name you,” he mused to himself.

“Sorry?” Naerys asked, having settled herself side saddle on her own horse.

“Just realised I haven’t named my horse,” Steve said.

“You should,” she said. “Swiftstride and I got along much better once I named him.”

“Fury,” Steve said, almost immediately. “This horse shall be named ‘Fury’.”

Naerys pursed her lips at him, hiding a smile. “Someone is having a jape played on them, aren’t they.”

“Maybe,” Steve said. He tapped his heels to Fury’s flanks, settling in to ride him. “Giddyup Fury. No dawdling now. I won’t tolerate any slacking.”

They departed the Red Keep at an easy walk, making for the city with the two servants behind them. The broad avenue leading to the castle was clearer that day, without the crowds that had gathered to watch the Kingsguard return victoriously, and that suited Steve just fine.

As they rode, he tried to get a feel for the city. The people here weren’t living luxurious lives, for the most part, but it was what they knew, and they seemed content under the rule of the Targaryens. This wasn’t exactly the bad side of town though, and he suspected that if he were to take a ride through the area called Flea Bottom he’d end up with a very different opinion of the city.

In time, they turned off the main road from the Keep, and into what Steve thought to be a more commercial district. With some help from the servants following them, they found the much lauded ‘Street of Steel’, a long road filled with the sounds of metal on metal, roaring flames, and the shouts of buyers, sellers, and those just passing through.

“Well,” Steve said, taking in the sights. It was certainly something he’d never come across before. He got the feeling Tony would be like a kid in a candy store, at least until he got bored and yeared for his high tech workshop. “We won’t be spoiled for choice.”

“We could get decent value at any store here,” Naerys said, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the clamour and life of the street. “Which one do you want to visit?”

“That one over there,” Steve said, gesturing towards a smaller shop at the end of the street, away from the largest storefronts. He could only see a single man working at the forge within, but the steel at its front caught his eye, standing apart from others even to his inexpert gaze.

“Let’s go then,” Naerys said briskly, leading the way over. Those on foot stepped out of the way as they went about their business, and Steve had a sudden flashback to New York, and a tide of people nonchalantly stepping around Tony in his red and gold suit as he ordered a hotdog.

They dismounted in front of the store, handing the reins to the servants, and Steve took the bagged armour in return. They stepped into the store proper, and were met by a wall of heat.

“Just a moment please,” the smith said, focused on the work before him. He was leaning over an intricately detailed helm of a hawk or an eagle, the beak forming the faceplate of the piece. He made a last tiny mark with his hammer and tiny chisel, before setting the helm aside. “What can I do for you, my lady-” he glanced at Steve, taking in his poor clothing but healthy features, “-and my lord?”

“We’re looking to sell some armour,” Steve said, “and possibly buy some other equipment.”

“Of course,” the man said. He wasn’t thick or well built, but he was wiry with muscle, and his eyes were sharp. He wore his hair shorn short. “My name is Tobho Mott, at your service. What kind of armour were you selling?”

Steve raised the bags he held, heavy and jumbled with armour, and Tobho gestured for a nearby table. Steve set them down, and the blacksmith began to inspect them.

“This is decent work,” Tobho said, running his hands over the gauntlets and the helm. “Not as good as mine, but still, decent. Do you know who made it?”

“Afraid not,” Steve said. “I didn’t get the chance to ask.”

“Pity,” Tobho said. “Where’d you get it?”

“The Smiling Knight,” Steve said.

Tobho paused, before looking at Steve with new eyes. “Well then. I’d heard that story, but it seemed a bit exaggerated to be honest my lord.”

“What part?” Naerys asked. She had turned to inspect some of the arms and armour hanging from the walls.

“The part where Lord America put his fist through the Smiling Knight’s chest piece,” Tobho said, inspecting the piece in question. “But stories do grow in the telling, as we can see.”

“I punched him in the throat, actually,” Steve said. “He was only wearing a gorget.”

Tobho blinked, surprised. “Well then,” he repeated himself. “How much were you wanting for the set then?”

Steve looked over to Naerys, giving her the go ahead.

“Lord America couldn’t accept less than twenty gold pieces,” she said firmly.

Steve almost raised an eyebrow at the high price, but he was Brooklyn born and bred, and in the 20s and 30s at that. Pinch every penny and haggle to your last breath.

“Come now,” Tobho said, shaking his head. “Let us be reasonable. This set is well used, and poorly maintained. It is worth ten gold at the most.”

“The Smiling Knight was a fearsome warrior, and he knew better than to let his armour go to rust,” Naerys argued. “Whatever wear the armour may hold is worth no more than a single gold piece.”

“A fearsome warrior, yes, but a madman all the same,” Tobho said. He was getting into it now, turning to face Naerys fully. “I wouldn’t vouch for his sense in armour maintenance. Twelve gold.”

“Let’s not pretend that you’ll be reselling this armour based strictly on its quality,” Naerys said. “This is the armour of the Smiling Knight. He’ll be remembered in story and song for years.”

“Story and song never put bread on my table,” Tobho said. “Who’s to say the people won’t forget him in a week's time, and there’s me standing there holding a so so set of armour that I’d be better off reforging?”

“Would you have haggled like this over the armour of Maelys the Monstrous?” Naerys asked, disbelief heavy in her tone. “You must know what a deal this is. Any merchant in this town would leap at this chance.”

“Any merchant yes, but I’m a blacksmith, my lady,” Tobho said, putting his hand over his heart. “I couldn’t possibly go over fifteen gold dragons.”

“A blacksmith of talent, at that,” Naerys said, like a wolf scenting its prey. “Fourteen gold pieces, and two gold pieces worth of equipment.”

Tobho stilled for a long moment, before nodding. “Deal.”

Naerys grinned. “Pleasure doing business with you, Master Mott.”

“And you,” Tobho said, somewhat ruefully. “Lady…?”

“Waters,” Naerys said, head held high. “Late of Sharp Point.”

“Lady Waters,” Tobho said, seemingly unbothered by whatever stigma the name held. “I’m late of Qohor myself.”

Steve gave Naerys an impressed nod when she looked over to him. He didn’t think he could have haggled that hard, out of practice as he was.

“So, would you like to browse my wares now, or take the gold and credit for the armour and come back later?”

“I have some ideas,” Steve said, glancing at the shield on his arm.

“From what I’ve heard about your shield, repairing it would be a masterwork,” Tobho said, apologetic. “I couldn’t promise anything.”

“No, I don’t expect it can be fixed,” Steve said, letting out a sigh. “But I need a new weapon, now that my shield is damaged. I was thinking a warhammer.”

“You’ll be doing away with the shield then?” Tobho asked, sizing him up.

“No, I’ll be using the hammer one handed,” Steve said.

“A hammer light enough to use one handed would lose much of its power,” the smith said.

“No, I--here, let me show you,” Steve said, spying a spare anvil at the back of the shop.

It wasn’t as large as the one in the centre of the shop, but it was large enough; about the size of his chest. Unstrapping his shield, Steve set it on the table, and approached the anvil. He tested it briefly, before picking it up with one arm. He did several curls with it, holding it easily in his hand, before putting it back where he found it.

“Weight won’t be an issue, and if I’m fighting for so long that it is, I’ll have larger problems,” Steve said.

Tobho’s jaw was slightly slack, and Naerys’ gaze was fixed on his arm.

“Right,” Tobho said. “A warhammer. Any particular heraldry?”

Steve considered it. “A star, like the one on my shield, set into the side of the head.”

“Any particular head?”

“...spike on one side, flat head on the other.”

“If I had your strength, I’d want to hit people with a lump of metal too,” Tobho muttered to himself as he took down some notes.

“Maybe I should just be asking for that then,” Steve said, his tone joking.

“Aye, and it’ll be all well and good until you come across some bastard you really need to spike through their plate,” Tobho said with a laugh. “Anything else?”

“A short sword,” Steve said. “Something suitable for Naerys.”

Naerys glanced at him, surprised.

“A dagger is a start, but you can do more with a short sword,” Steve said. “Doesn’t need to be fancy, just reliable.”

“I suppose it could be interesting,” Naerys said, thinking it over.

“Of course,” Tobho said, writing it down. “I’ll take her measurements while you’re here.”

“And I’ll need a helm, too,” Steve said. “My cap doesn’t offer the most cover.”

“I have a number of helms in stock, if you want to look around,” Tobho said.

“I was thinking a bow, as well,” Steve said as he began to look about the small store, heading for the corner with helms covering the wall.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the skills of a bowyer,” Tobho said. “But I can recommend one.”

“What about a bow made from metal?” Steve asked. His eyes settled on a particular helm, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “This one.”

Tobho was frowning, rubbing his chin. “I’ve seen it done once before. I could do it. It would work. I can’t give you a guarantee on its range and reliability though,” he warned. “It will be expensive too.”

“Let me think about it,” Steve said. “I’ll take this helm, though.”

“Good choice,” Tobho said, glancing at it. “That was a commission that some noble heir reneged on. The ornaments mean something to you?”

“Reminds me of my first set of armour,” Steve admitted. “I think that’s it.”

“Very good my lord,” Tobho said. “Let me just work this…” he trailed off, muttering to himself. After a long minute, he cleared his throat. “Right. The helm you’ve got, just need to make some padding adjustments by the look of it. The short sword will be simple, I’m sure to have one suitable for Lady Waters on hand, and if not, it’s quick work. The warhammer will be harder, I have a haft ready to go but it will still take a few days to finish. The bow...that will be tricky, and I’ll need to bring a bowyer in on it. It will be the most expensive item. Six gold pieces for the warhammer, four for the helm, one for the sword, and twelve for the bow.” Tobho met Steve’s gaze squarely. “That is my price, my lord, and I know the quality of my work.”

“I’ll take the lot,” Steve said. “Twenty three gold coins, armour was sixteen, so that makes it seven left. I don’t have it on me, but I can go and get it now if you’d like?”

Tobho blinked. “Sixteen gold will more than suffice for a down payment, my lord. The rest will be fine on delivery.”

Steve nodded, accepting it. “How long will it all take?”

“Hmmm,” Tobho said, rubbing his chin. “Give me a week. Where are you staying?”

“The Red Keep.”

“I’ll send a runner to you when it’s all ready,” the blacksmith said. “You won’t regret your purchase, and you’ve given me an interesting challenge to boot.” He turned to Naerys. “If I might take your arm length and grip size?”

“Of course,” Naerys said, holding out her right arm. Tobho pulled out a roll of tape and a few wood dowels, handing them to Naerys in turn. “Not quite a dress fitting,” she quipped.

“I’ve met plenty of ladies who treated it like one,” Steve offered.

Tobho finished taking the measurements and added them to his page of notes. “All done.”

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Steve said, offering his hand. Tobho clasped it and seemed surprised when Steve shook it, but went with it.

“And you, Lord America, Lady Waters,” he said. “Thank you for your patronage.”

With their business done, they left the store behind, returning to their horses. Naerys called one of the servants over to take possession of the helm Steve had chosen, admiring it briefly.

“Take this back to the Keep; that will be all we need from you today I should think,” she said, with a questioning glance at Steve. At his nod, the servant took the helm and departed with his fellow, leaving the two of them alone. “What did you have in mind now, Steve?”

“How about we have a look around the city?” Steve offered. “Visit a store or two.”

A smile bloomed over Naerys’ face. “I’d like that, Steve,” she said.

“I’ll have to ask you for a loan if we find something though,” he said, brow creasing.

“I have it on good authority that you’re good for the coin,” Naerys said, teasing.

They mounted up as before, and set off into the streets of King’s Landing with no particular destination in mind. For a time, they simply took in the sights, sounds, and smells of the city. People were in a hurry to carry out their business, rushing this way and that, all sorts of folk passing them. They saw beggars in the shadows, young kids carrying messages, tradesmen and merchants, even a Lady being carried in a litter. The city pulsed around them, gathering them up in itself.

“My father visited here once,” Naerys said some time after they had left the Street of Steel behind. “He told me all about it when he returned. It isn’t as grand as he made it out to be, but it’s...more alive, I think.”

“What kind of man was he?” Steve asked, nudging his horse closer so as not to block the street off.

Naerys pondered the question for a long moment. “He was kind,” she said. “He did a lot more for more than any bastard daughter could hope to expect. His wife died young, as did my mother, and he never wanted to remarry after that.”

“My ma was the same,” Steve said. “Strong as heck, but kind. She had to be, to put up with me and Buck,” he joked.

“You pull off mannerly quite well, but I think I know you enough now to see past that,” Naerys said. “That poor woman must have had nerves of steel.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Steve said. “We were little hellions.”

A gang of urchins ran past, and Naerys clutched at her belt purse.

“Good eye,” Steve said. “They’d have had the purse and been gone before you could blink.”

“I’m sure the dashing Lord America would have retrieved it for me,” Naerys said.

“The dashing Lord America might have,” Steve agreed. “Pity I’ve never met him before. Sounds like a swell guy.”

Naerys rolled her eyes at him, and they continued riding. Shortly afterwards, a shop sign caught Steve’s eye.

“Hey, is that--I think it is,” Steve said.

“What is it?” Naerys asked.

“Art supplies,” Steve said. “Come on, let’s take a look.”

There was a rail for horses to be tied to at the front, and they left Swiftstride and Fury there as they went inside. The interior was lit though a row of open shutters, light filtering in through them from up high. There were easels, finely made brushes, and sticks of charcoal set into handles. There was even a leather bound book on display, filled with parchment.

“Good afternoon, my lord, my lady,” came the voice of the storekeeper, a middle aged man with paint on his nose. His eyes took in their appearance and flicked to the horses they had left outside, and his smile became more genuine. “How may I aid you this day?”

“I was just admiring your selection,” Steve said, running a thumb over the bristles of a brush. He couldn’t remember the last time he sat down just to draw. It had to be back before the Snap.

“Does my lord paint?” the shopkeeper asked, stepping out from behind the counter.

“I draw, and I sketch,” Steve said. “More of a dabbler than anything.”

“Well, you won’t find a finer selection of tools for your dabbling than in my establishment,” the man said. “Is there anything in particular I can interest you in?”

Steve took up the leather bound book, flipping it open to reveal crisp blank pages.

“That piece is twenty silver moons,” the man said, voice apologetic but firm.

Steve considered it. Most of a poor man’s yearly wage, but money was relative, and he hadn’t taken the time for it in decades, it felt like. “How much for the book and some charcoal?”

The man didn’t hesitate. “For drawing charcoal, of differing and appropriate grains with grips to avoid mess and smearing? For you my lord, one gold dragon.”

Steve turned to ask Naerys for a loan, but she was already reaching into her coin purse. “I’ll cover you when we get back to the Keep,” he said, and he swore the shopkeeper’s ears pricked up like a hunting hound at that.

“I shall package that for you, my lord, my lady,” he said. “Can I interest you in any of our paints and brushes?”

“That will do for today, thank you,” Steve said.

In short order the book was wrapped in cloth, as were the charcoal sticks separately, before being packaged together in one bundle. A coin was exchanged, and the shopkeeper bowed them on their way.

“Thank you for your patronage!” he said, well pleased.

“This kind of money,” Naerys said, shaking her head. “It will take some getting used to.”

“As someone who has gone hungry before, it’s only money,” Steve said. “What’s important is what it does for you.”

Naerys made a noise of agreement, still feeling the heft of her coin purse, but Steve’s attention had been drawn to a cluster of three men who were eyeing their horses. They sized him up as they took up the reins once more. Steve met their gaze without blinking and slowly shook his head.

The moment stretched out, and then the leader of the three blinked, muttering to his fellows and turning away.

“Time to return to the Keep, perhaps,” Naerys said, an amused look in her eye. “Lunch is calling.”

“Sure,” Steve said, holding the package to his side. He nudged his horse to follow Naerys. It had been a productive day.

A good day.

X x X

The week spent waiting for the blacksmith to work was calmer than his time in this world so far. Somehow, word had filtered back to the Red Keep that they would be staying in the city for at least another week, and their return had seen them met by a servant that reassured Steve that he would be a welcome guest for as long as he wished. He figured an indefinite invitation was just a politeness, but at the least they had a week before moving on. He meant to take that time to relax as much as he could, and get his feet back under him. Thanos, arriving in Westeros, pursuing his shield, the Kingswood Brotherhood and the ride to King’s Landing...some time to consider everything that had occurred would do him some good.

Given the lack of music and movies from his childhood that he enjoyed putting on when he just needed to unwind, Steve turned to his other option: drawing. That, and recreational violence.

He made a habit of visiting the training yard of a morning, doing what was necessary to stay in shape and getting used to what the soldiers of this world could throw at him. For their part, the knights seemed eager to test themselves against the foreign warrior who fought with only a shield, but could stand up against a member of the Kingsguard. By the end of the week, Steve could have sworn that he’d sparred against every knight in the city with permission to enter the Red Keep, and some of them twice. He couldn’t say how he would fare in open battle, and if he was lucky he’d never find out, but there were few amongst them who might hope to threaten him. Barristan was a notable exception, the man’s skill with a sword doing a lot to negate the difference in strength and speed between them. Even Jaime at times forced him to move quickly, and Steve’s admittedly amateur eye for swordsmanship could see the seeds of something great in him.

Beyond earning a reputation for impressive stamina, Steve kept his achievements in the training yard within the realms of human ability. He didn’t want to get himself burnt at the stake or anything; not that he thought they did that kind of thing here.

He kept up his training of Naerys, too. It was still early days, but she was showing some real promise and motivation to improve. Jaime had even piped up with some tips when he had handed her a practise shortsword to get used to, looking oddly nostalgic. Steve wouldn’t send her into battle, but he was liking her chances of defending herself more and more. There were those who looked at him askance for training a woman to fight, but most chalked it up to his strange foreign ways, and those who looked to have something to say about it were dissuaded by a raised eyebrow.

After working up a light sweat in the morning, Steve would retreat to a shadowed part of the castle or the walls and set about filling his new sketchbook. Servants going about their days, sparring knights, the city itself, all slowly filled the rough pages in what became almost meditative sessions. He sketched Barristan honing his sword in the training yard, Rhaegar practising his harp in the godswood, even Naerys glaring at him in exhaustion after he told her she had to carry the barrel of water around the courtyard one more time.

If some of his pages were filled by friends and comrades from back home, talking and sparring with his new acquaintances, well he figured he was allowed a little homesickness.

If nothing else, drawing helped to fill the hours in a place that seemed to consider getting drunk of an evening the height of entertainment. He’d asked about theatre, but only received a blank look and an answer about something called ‘mummers’. Seems like they hadn’t gotten their Shakespeare here yet.

When he needed to stretch his legs, another trip into the city had beckoned. He and Naerys had followed up on a connection from one of the soldiers that he had saved in the Kingswood, a relative that ran a shop selling travel supplies. Maybe his time in the ‘future’ had spoiled him, because Steve saw no problem with dropping months worth of a common man’s earnings on everything they’d need to be comfortable on the road to Harrenhal, and wherever their path led them after that.

Their haul was impressive: a large tent, one that came with hooks that you could hang cloth walls from. It was a little overkill for just the two of them, but at least they wouldn’t have to upgrade immediately if they found more travelling companions. Pots, pans, cooking utensils in general - they wouldn’t be carrying around half a cooked boar for several days like they had after their immediate departure from Sharp Point. Various sundries, like soap and a straight razor, spare clothes that were hardy enough for life on the road, comfortable bedrolls...in the end, they had needed to buy a cart just to carry all the purchases, and a pair of mules to pull it. Naerys had suggested, and Steve was seriously considering, hiring someone just to help them with it all. Spending this much back in his world would have made him feel like he was going overboard, but here it was needed just to travel comfortably. Sure, he could make do with less, but why when he didn’t need to?

Yeah, his time in the 21st century had definitely spoiled him.

After giving the matter deeper through, Steve thought a helper or two might be necessary. Where he’d find them, what kind of helper he wanted, and how much he’d pay them was something he’d have to consider though.

He did find the time to say hello to the local maester, but that...hadn’t gone so well.

X

Steve knocked on the door of the tower he had been told housed the apartments of the Grand Maester. As much as Naerys had been able to tell him of Westeros, she’d never had a formal education, and he hoped for the chance to learn more about this strange new land.

A long minute later, the door opened, revealing what Steve took to be a young serving woman, barefoot and clad in a grey dress. “Yes m’lord?” she asked.

“I was hoping to see the Grand Maester,” Steve said. “Does he have a moment?”

The girl hesitated, then nodded. “I will check, m’lord.” She closed the door in his face.

After counting another out another five minutes of waiting at the door, he heard shuffling at the other side, and it was pulled open by an older man, with a long beard that was more white than brown, and what remained of a head of hair that was thinning in an unfortunate way. “Can I help you, Lord America?” he asked in a thin voice. He was dressed in a fine velvet robe of red, and wore a number of heavy chains of many different metals around his neck, festooned with gems or all kinds. Curiously, he wasn’t wearing any shoes either.

“I wanted to learn about the history of Westeros, your laws and politics,” Steve said. “Would you be able to...”

But the maester was already shaking his head. “I am afraid I lack the time for such things, Lord America. My duties to the Royal Family demand my full attention. You are of course welcome within the library, under supervision of course.”

“I haven’t learnt to read your language yet,” Steve said with a considering frown.

A patronising look came over the man’s face. “In that case, I fear that even if I had the time, you would gain little from my instruction.”

“Ah,” Steve said, a small tendril of irritation rising within him. “I had hoped to share some knowledge from my homeland.”

The patronising look only grew. “The Citadel is the single greatest centre of learning in the known world. What learning a warrior might have is already known to us.”

The irritation turned to full on annoyance. Several sharp retorts crossed his mind, but he did his best to stay civil.

"When you've stopped accepting new experiences, you've given up all hope of learning,” Steve said, biting his tongue.

“Of course,” the maester said with a false smile. “Thank you for your visit, and should you ever gain literacy, know that any guest of the King is welcome in the library.” And he shut the door.

Steve narrowed his eyes. He was technically 105 years old. He could get away with beating a fellow old man, surely.

He let out a great sigh. An old man, close minded and hiding in his tower, was not worth getting worked up over. He turned and left the place behind, looking for something more productive to do, like feeding pigeons.

X

The maester’s attitude hadn’t done much for his good mood, but Steve figured he wouldn’t have been able to learn much from a guy like that anyway. Maybe he’d just been spoiled by the 21st century.

An hour or so kicking around a ball of some kind with some of the pages and squires had restored his spirits, the kids overjoyed at having someone like him join in on their game. There were no rules to it, just a bunch of teams trying to keep the ball from everyone else, but it did give him some ideas to spread a few games from his world around when he got the chance.

That brought him to now, the end of the week, and saddling Fury up once more for a ride into the city. Word had come by messenger that morning during his time in the training yard that his order was ready, and he found himself eager to see what Tobho Mott had created. He’d only used a shield for so long that picking up a new weapon felt like a special event. Taking up Mjolnir the first time was something else entirely, and hardly counted.

Speaking of Mjolnir...he glanced around the courtyard, busy with knights, squires, and other servants. It might not be the best place to try it, but he had to check. He couldn’t believe it’d taken him this long to try; he could always stop calling it if it responded.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and held out his hand, palm up over Fury’s saddlehorn. He reached out, grasping with that sense that had linked Mjolnir to him when he had taken it up against Thanos.

Slowly, raggedly, the connection came to him. He tried to tug on it gently, like he remembered - but there was something preventing it from answering. He could feel it, but it was off, as if distorted like a picture through water. Thor’s hammer would not scream through the sky towards him, coming to his aid.

He opened his eyes and frowned, vaguely troubled.

“Thinking heavy thoughts?” Naerys asked, approaching side saddle on her own mount.

“Just something that might be a problem down the line,” Steve said. “It can wait. Ready to go?”

“Yes,” Naerys said, almost bouncing in the saddle. “Master Mott is supposed to be something of a rising star in the Street of Steel. I’m eager to see what he has created.”

The ride to the Street of Steel seemed faster that day, and soon they had arrived at Mott’s smithy. Tobho was waiting for them, but he was not alone. Another stood at his side, a man with thick arms and sharp eyes.

“My Lord America, Lady Waters, welcome,” Tobho said with a slight bow. “I trust the day finds you well?”

“Great, and you?” Steve asked, dismounting from his horse. He offered Naerys his arm as she slipped off her own mount.

Tobho hesitated only briefly before answering. “Excellent, thank you my lord. This is Master Longstride, the bowyer I worked with on the bow you commissioned.”

“M’lord, m’lady,” Longstride said, giving a bow of his own. “The bow was a challenge, but we think it has turned out well.”

“Please, come in,” Tobho said, gesturing for them to follow him into his shop. A teenaged kid with a look similar to Longstride took the reins of their horses and led them to a trough that had been set up for them.

The work table in the centre of the shop had been cleared, and on it sat two jugs and a number of cups. Of greater interest to Steve, a plain cloth lay over a few objects.

“Refreshments?” Tobho asked.

“Water, please,” Naerys said.

“Same,” Steve said. He was itching to get at the hidden weapons, but he could be patient for the tradesmen to reveal their work.

The kid who took their horses hurried in to pour four goblets of water, before handing them over to Steve, Naerys, Mott, and Longstride. With the value of the order placed, it seemed like they were going all out to make a good impression. Steve and Naerys murmured their thanks, but their eyes were on the covered weapons.

“First, the short sword,” Tobho said, pulling back a portion of the cloth to reveal the blade.

Even to Steve’s eye it seemed a fine weapon, and Naerys didn’t even try to hide her grin as she accepted it from the smith. She hefted it, testing the weight, and made the stab and slash Jaime had shown her the other day.

“It’s perfect,” Naerys said.

“It will do until you’re strong enough for something larger,” Steve said with a shrug. “If that’s the path you want to take, anyway.”

“I presumed the Lady would want a weapon to defend herself with that is practical for her size and not too burdensome,” Tobho said. “I chose the blade and made adjustments as appropriate.”

“Thank you,” Naerys said, still admiring her blade. “Both of you,” she added, with a glance between Steve and Tobho.

Tobho inclined his head. “And of course, a sheath is included.” He took a belt and sheath from the table, and held it out for her to take.

“Th--oh. Thank you, Master Mott,” Naerys said, a very faint blush on her cheeks.

Curious, Steve looked the sheath over to see what had provoked the reaction. All he could see that stood out on the black leather of the sheath was the outline of a white star stitched onto its side.

“I was inspired by your symbol, Lord America,” Tobho said. “If it’s not to your liking, it can be removed with little effort.”

“Looks good, so long as Naerys doesn’t mind,” Steve said, glancing at her.

Now Naerys looked exasperated. “It is fine work. I will be happy to bear it, regardless of what others might think,” she said.

“If they don’t like women learning to fight their opinions aren’t worth listening to,” Steve said.

Naerys looked at him for a long moment, before sighing and turning back to Tobho with a smile. “The next weapon, please,” she said, handing the sword back.

“Of course,” Tobho said, sheathing the blade expertly and placing it back on the table. He pulled the cloth back further, revealing a menacing looking warhammer. “I am particularly happy with this piece.” He took it up with both hands, and held it out to Steve.

Steve took it up easily, admiring the piece. The head was a solid chunk of steel, flanged on the face of the hammer one side and a curved spike on the other, while a straight spike rose up from the haft through the head. On each side of the head a bevelled star was engraved, and they gleamed a pale white in contrast to the colour of the steel. The haft itself was plain, but the leather grip had accents of red, white, and blue.

“I could see myself getting used to this,” Steve admitted. He stepped back from anything breakable and swung it one handed, slow and smooth. The weight was there, but he felt like he could swing it for hours, such was its balance. “The balance is something else.”

Tobho nodded. “You mentioned using it one handed, so I made some changes to what I would usually do. Master Longstride helped with the grip and its colouring; I can add a tint to metal without the use of paint, but leather is outside my expertise.”

Steve swung the hammer as hard as he could without losing control, picturing a purple head. The air hummed with its passage, and he grinned. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

“We have a harness, made to be worn over the shoulder,” Longstride said. “It should be suitable over any type of armour, with adjustments.”

Steve handed the hammer back, and Tobho took it with both hands, placing it back on the table.

“Now, this piece, I’ll admit I wasn’t sure about,” Tobho said. “But with how it has turned out, we think it won’t be the last one we make.” He pulled the cloth back one last time, revealing the bow.

It fairly gleamed under the glow of the nearby forge. Plain steel in colouring, it wasn’t quite a recurve bow, but its shape was familiar to one. Rippling patterns could be seen in the curves of the metal, and it was strung with a dark string.

“This bow,” Tobho said, “would be useless to most people. Given the way you just swung that hammer about, I think you’ll be one of the few who can use it.”

“The draw weight is a step above any wooden bow of a comparable size,” Longstride said. “And stringing it was a stone col--” he glanced at Naerys and coughed. “Well, it was a two man job.”

“I’d love to see you loose an arrow, but when we called a strong man over to test it earlier, he struggled to draw it fully and the arrow still almost went through the wooden wall behind the target,” Tobho said.

Steve inspected the bow. Tony likely could have made something better, and Clint would have been more interested in fancy arrows, but for the time and place he found himself in, it wasn’t too bad at all. Facing forward, just below the arrow rest, was another white star engraved in the metal.

In one movement, he drew the string back. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t holding a helicopter down mid-takeoff either. Slowly, he eased it back to its resting position.

“Gossip says you mean to participate at Harrenhal?” Tobho asked.

“That’s right,” Steve said.

“When people ask after the bow, make sure to mention it was made by Mott and Longstride,” Longstride said. “And when they see what it can do, they will be asking.”

“I thought most people wouldn’t be able to draw it?” Naerys asked.

“They won’t,” Tobho said, sharing a conspiratorial grin. “But most nobles won’t let that stop them, and pride won’t let them demand their coin back.”

Naerys smirked, and Steve gave a snort.

“I’ll remember to mention you both,” Steve said.

“I’ve supplied arrows suitable for the bow, and a quiver to hold them,” Longstride said.

“I appreciate that,” Steve said, handing the bow back.

“And with that, we arrive at the matter of cost,” Tobho said. “Your down payment covered most, but there remains seven gold dragons in balance.”

“Take eight, with my thanks,” Steve said with good cheer. “And I’ll be sure to spread the good word of your craftsmanship when I win the melee at Harrenhal.” He might be counting his chickens before they’d hatched, but he was one for polite modesty, not false humility.

Smiles broke out across the craftsmens’ faces as the sale was confirmed. Steve counted out eight gold dragons, nearly a decade of savings to a farmer, and handed them over. From the speed with which they disappeared, he would say it was no small amount to a skilled tradesman either.

“Most appreciated, my lord,” Tobho said.

“Aye,” Longstride added.

Tobho immediately began to place the weapons into a solid chest, separated by padding.

“My boy can help you take them back to the Red Keep, if you’d like,” Longstride said.

“Sure,” Steve said. “Uh, the chest would be a little heavy…”

“Not to worry m’lord, we’ve a mule to bear the weight,” Longstride said. “Robin, fetch the beast, and get him settled to bear the chest.”

The kid, who had been watching silently ever since pouring the drinks, stepped out to ready the mule. Steve could see the animal had bullied its way towards the trough that Fury and Swiftstride were drinking from. With some coaxing and a carrot, it was readied to carry the chest, a plank of wood tied across its back. With a grunt of effort, Robin heaved the chest up onto the plank, holding it in place as he strapped it down with his free hand. The mule bore this with ill temper, but only attempted to kick out at the kid once.

“Ready when you are, m’lord,” Robin said. His voice was cracked halfway through.

“I’ll check in on you next time I’m in King’s Landing,” Steve said to the two masters as he untied Fury. “Take care of yourselves now.” He stepped up into the saddle.

“Seven guide you,” Tobho said by way of farewell.

Naerys boosted herself up with the stirrup, twisting to sit side saddle. She hadn’t bothered with that while they were on the road, but Steve figured it was a social expectations thing. Moments later, they were off, Robin following behind.

Their journey was quiet as they left the Street of Steel, Steve beginning to plot out their next step. They’d need a map, or someone to guide them to Harrenhal, unless they wanted to wait for a noble to leave for the tournament, but that didn’t appeal to him.

“Excuse me, m’lord?”

Steve glanced to the side. Wrapped up in his thoughts, he hadn’t paid attention to Robin drawing up alongside him. “Hmm, yes?”

“You told my father that you meant to compete at Harrenhal,” Robin Longstride said. He had his father’s sharp blue eyes, and broad shoulders that came from exercise, but he was still growing into his frame otherwise. Brown hair cut short, likely with a knife, topped his head.

“That’s right,” Steve said.

“Would you be looking for a servant, ser?” Robin asked quickly. “I’m more than a fair shot with a bow, I can hunt, and my ma even taught me my letters,” he said.

Steve turned a considering gaze on the kid. He couldn’t be more than fifteen, but Jaime was what, sixteen himself?

Steve felt his spine straighten as he fell into the mode of trying to set a good example for children. “Did you ask your father about this?” he asked.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Naerys’ head swivel towards him, and remembered that the last time he’d made the mistake of using that voice had been the ill advised PSA videos he’d been roped into doing for schools.

“Not yet,” Robin said. “I didn’t want to distract him from his work, and…”

“And you thought he might say no,” Steve finished.

Robin shrugged. “It’s a good opportunity for me,” he argued. “I wouldn’t have asked before you bought the bow in case--” he cut himself off, looking guilty.

Steve only grinned. “In case I tried to use the job offer to get a discount, or it put me off buying it,” he guessed.

Robin kicked at the ground as he guided the mule along. “Something like that.”

“I can’t say I wasn’t considering hiring an extra pair of hands,” Steve said. “But you’d need your father’s permission.”

“He’ll say yes,” Robin said, nodding rapidly. “I’m only a third son, and working for a noble can be a good job.”

“You know I don’t have lands here in Westeros?” Steve warned. “I’m from a far away land.”

“I know,” Robin said. “Anyone in the city with an ear for tales knows. But you killed the Smiling Knight with a single blow, and fought alongside the Kingsguard. Even if you don’t take the prize at Harrenhal, I can make money betting on you,” he said, sounding eager.

“Have you ever been beyond King’s Landing, son?” Steve asked. “Travelled the land?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Robin scoffed, but then he hesitated. “I mean, I’ve been outside the walls. Once. On a hunt. As a game fetcher for a noble…”

Steve shook his head, grin tugging at his lips. “Well, I’m inclined to say yes, but like I said--”

“I’ll need my Da’s permission, yeah,” Robin said. He almost vibrated in excitement. “Er, m’lord.”

“Don’t stress about that,” Steve said.

“So long as we’re not around other nobles,” Naerys cut in. She looked at Steve apologetically. “If nobles see your servants ‘disrespecting’ you, they won’t respect you either.”

“Just call me Steve when we’re not around nobles,” Steve said.

“Uh..sure, m’l--Steve,” Robin said. It was clear the name sat awkwardly on his tongue.

“Sir will do until you’re comfortable with it,” Steve said, sighing.

“Yes ser,” Robin said.

“Taking Robin into your retinue means more than just paying him, Steve,” Naerys said. “You’ll be expected to feed, clothe, and shelter him too. If your servants appear poorly, that will reflect on you too.”

Steve considered this for a moment. “What kind of pay were you expecting then?” he asked Robin.

“A fair pay?” Robin said hesitantly. It was clear he hadn’t really given it great thought.

Steve’s gaze swung to Naerys, and she tilted her head in question.

“Maybe you should deal with this,” Steve said, tapping a finger on his chin.

“I’m sorry?” Naerys said.

Steve nodded. “You know more about this, and I trust you to deal with it, so you’ll be in charge of it. I’ll need to pay you a wage, so you’ll have to tell me what’s fair.”

“You want me to tell you how much you should pay me,” Naerys said, voice flat.

“Sounds reasonable,” Steve said.

Naerys stared out into the distance as they walked, muttering calculations under her breath. “Pay him three silver moons a month, at least to start,” she said at length. “That’s over a gold dragon for the year, on top of food, shelter, and protection. As he grows in age and skill, we’ll revisit the rate.” She worried at her lip with her thumb. “Pay me five silver moons now, and increase that if we pick up more people, but never pay me more than 10 silver moons a month unless our situation changes drastically.”

Steve thought about it, putting the idea that he might have to think about life here for a year or more to the side. He still had 80 gold dragons and change. It sounded reasonable.

“Sounds good,” Steve said. “What’s the prize for winning the melee at Harrenhal anyway?”

“Fifteen thousand gold dragons,” Robin said. He blinked at the looks Steve and Naerys gave him. “What? Everyone is talking about it. It’s the richest tourney ever held. The joust is sixty thousand for the winner, and twenty thousand for the runner up.”

Steve let out a whistle. “That’s something. Still, fifteen thousand will be hard to spend.”

Robin gave Steve a dubious look. “You’ll be up against the greatest knights in the Seven Kingdoms,” he said. “Er, ser.”

“You’ll see, Robin,” Naerys said. “You’ll see.”

The Red Keep loomed ahead of them, but there were still a ways off.

“What about the axe throwing, the archery, and the horse race?” Steve asked. “Are there prizes for those too?”

“Five thousand for the axe throwing, same for the horse race,” Robin said. “And ten thousand for the archery,” he said, a look of yearning crossing his face.

“You want to enter the archery contest?” Steve asked the kid.

“I wish,” Robin said. “I could never afford the cost of entry.”

“Well, do well on the trip there and I’m sure we can get you in there,” Steve said easily.

Robin goggled at him. “Truly?”

“Sure. Be all that you can be,” Steve said. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

The kid looked to Naerys, and Steve couldn’t see what gesture she made, but suddenly his face was filled with determination. “I’m going to win that prize,” he declared. He was fairly skipping as he led the mule along, even pulling ahead of his companions ahorse.

“There’s another contest at Harrenhal too,” Naerys said, guiding Swiftstride closer to Steve. “One thousand gold dragons as a prize.”

“What is it?” Steve asked.

“A tourney of singers,” Naerys said, eyes teasing.

Steve groaned, and Naerys laughed. She spurred her horse on, pulling away.

He spared a prayer in hopes that none of his other friends ever got the details of his little adventure here, and nudged Fury to catch up. He’d never hear the end of it.

X x X

They had reached the outer courtyard of the Red Keep and dismounted when Steve made his decision.

“Speak to your father quickly, and if he agrees, say your goodbyes,” Steve said to Robin. “We’ll be leaving bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Robin startled, paused, and then almost fell over himself trying to offload the chest to the servants who had emerged to take possession of it. “Yes ser. I’ll be here before the sun rises,” he swore.

“Maybe not that bright and early,” Steve said. “And I mean it about saying your goodbyes. If I find out you didn’t speak to your parents, I’ll turn around and drop you off to your ma’s mercies,” he warned.

Robin shuddered at the thought. “I wouldn’t risk her wrath,” he said, already turning his mule around. “You won’t regret this!”

“It will be good to move on,” Steve said to Naerys, as they watched Robin practically run back into the city.

“Eager to see Harrenhal?” Naerys asked.

“That, and escape this stench,” Steve said, pulling a face. “If I ever come back here, it won’t be for a vacation.”

Naerys smiled. “Perhaps you should take to wearing perfume under your nose, like some of the ladies do.”

“I should have thought of that,” Steve muttered. “What do we need to do to get on our way? I think we’ve made all the purchases we need.”

“I will gather our belongings and make the final preparations we need to travel, including what you need to provide for Robin,” Naerys said. “You are going to pay your respects to the King and other notables, so that no one is left deeply insulted in our wake.”

“This is going to be a whole thing, isn’t it,” Steve said.

“Welcome to the games nobles play,” Naerys said. She turned to the two servants holding the chest between them. “Please have that taken to the stables to be placed with Lord America’s other supplies.”

“Leaving was easier when I could just StarKonnect people,” Steve muttered to himself, handing his reins over to a stableboy.

“I know not of what you speak, but I know grumbling when I hear it,” Naerys said. “You remind me more of the village grandfathers than a young lord sometimes.”

Steve very carefully held back a comment that started with ‘Back in my day…’. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ll see you back at the room later?”

“Of course,” Naerys said, rolling her eyes. “I will see you then.” She departed, heading deeper into the Keep.

It wasn’t hard to find the first of those who Steve wanted to say his farewells to. Jaime was still holding court in the training yard, where Steve had left him earlier before visiting the Street of Steel. The initial flood of knights brought on by Steve and Barristan’s morning spars had died down some, but the habit had been established amongst the more dedicated, especially with the chance to spar against like minded knights.

Even Jaime, young as he was, was a favoured opponent, what with the growing tales of his fight against the Smiling Knight alongside Barristan the Bold. As Steve approached the ring, he watched as the Lannister kid used a piece of footwork he had shown him to foul the legs of his foe, before sweeping him off his feet and putting his blade to his neck. In a battle, that would likely spell death for the prone knight, even in full armour. In the sparring ring, it meant some cheers and jeers, and Jaime helping the other man up, a courtesy Steve had drilled into the kid’s head during their journey to King’s Landing.

“Lord Steve!” Jaime called upon sighting him. “Back for another round? And here I thought you had gone for your nap.”

“I think I’ve given you enough bruises for one day, Jaime,” Steve said. “I plan to leave for Harrenhal tomorrow, so I wanted to say my goodbyes.”

“Ah,” Jaime said. “I suppose I’ve done my workout for the day, regardless.” He made for the edge of the ring, ducking out and allowing another knight to take his place. “When do you mean to leave?”

“Tomorrow, early,” Steve said. “I don’t want to have to rush, and if anything slows us down we won’t miss the tournament.”

Jaime accepted a waterskin a servant handed him, taking a long drink. He stood tall, but his legs were trembling near imperceptibly. He was strong, but Steve’s exercises had him using new muscle groups. Swilling the water about in his mouth, he spat it out and took another drink. “I’m due to leave tomorrow too, actually. Casterly Rock beckons, and my business here is finally complete.”

“Is your family going with you?” Steve asked, as they stepped away from the busy edge of the sparring ring. “You said you hadn’t seen them for a while.”

“Father is Hand of the King, his duties keep him here,” Jaime said, shaking his head. “And my sister will stay with him.”

“Well, at least you got to spend some time with them,” Steve offered.

A half smile came over Jaime’s face. “Yes, it had been too long. And I’m sure I’ll see them again soon.”

“They’ll be coming to Harrenhal too?” Steve asked.

“Yes, Harrenhal,” Jaime said. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but changed his mind. “Hundreds of lords and knights will be in attendance. I must admit, I’m looking forward to seeing you face them.”

“You might be out of luck if you’re hoping they pay me back for some of the bruises I gave you,” Steve said.

“No, I’ll be making more money off of betting on you than Lann the Clever did stealing Casterly Rock,” Jaime said. “That is how you’ll be paying me back for the bruises.”

“Your family not giving you enough pocket money?” Steve asked. “I thought they were the richest in the land.”

“Of course we are,” Jaime said. “But coin won is sweeter than coin earned, especially when someone else is doing both the winning and the earning.”

Steve rolled his eyes. In his own way, Jaime came off as cheekier than the Parker kid Tony had told him about. “Well, here’s to hoping I don’t fall off my horse and break my neck.” He held out his arm for the local variant of a handshake. “I’ll see you at Harrenhal, Jaime. You’ve been a good student.”

Jaime’s spine straightened, and he clasped Steve’s arm. “Harrenhal,” he agreed. “And Steve...thank you for your teachings. I know you didn’t offer it in hopes of a reward, but a Lannister always pays their debts.”

“Just use it for a good cause,” Steve said, shaking his head. “You’re a good man, and that’ll be payment enough.”

“If you say so, Lord America,” Jaime said. “Farewell, for now.”

They parted ways, and Steve continued on to his next farewell. The White Sword Tower waited.

X x X

The tower that the Kingsguard called their home was built into the wall of the Red Keep, and overlooked Blackwater Bay. Steve approached unchallenged, those few servants and men-at-arms who saw him well aware of his developing easy friendship with Ser Barristan, and his casual acquaintance with Arthur Dayne. He knocked on the main door, and waited. Several moments later, the doors opened inward, revealing Barristan with a slight frown on his face.

The frown eased when he saw Steve. “Ah, Steve. I should have known. Come in, please.”

“How come?” Steve asked, following the knight in. The room he entered was very white, white walls with white hangings, a hearth to one side with a white shield and swords mounted above it. At the centre of the round room was a table shaped like a shield, and Barristan returned to a seat with a half finished meal before it. Steve took a seat just down from him.

“You knocked,” Barristan said. “My brothers have no need to knock, the servants know they are permitted entry, those with authority can enter at will, and those without would have made an appointment.”

“Fair enough,” Steve said, looking around. For the headquarters and home of the knights who guarded the king and his family, the room was quite sparse.

“What brings you here?” Barristan asked, continuing with his meal.

“I’m moving on tomorrow,” Steve said, “heading to Harrenhal. I wanted to say goodbye before I left.”

“Ah,” Barristan said. “I shall see you there, certainly.” He put his plate and cutlery aside, reaching over to clasp Steve’s arm. “It has been a pleasure to meet you, Lord America.”

“And you, Ser Selmy,” Steve said. “It’s certainly been an experience.”

"Perhaps we’ll see each other on the field of battle,” Barristan said, returning to his meal.

“So long as it’s a friendly battle,” Steve said.

Barristan chuckled. “Of course. I prefer the joust, but I may have to participate in the melee. There are few knights who can test me beyond my brothers these days.” His eyes gleamed at the thought.

“And here I thought Jaime was the one who hadn’t finished collecting bruises from me,” Steve said jokingly.

The knight harrumphed, but was hiding a grin. “Is Lady Naerys to accompany you?”

“She hasn’t gotten tired of me yet, so yeah,” Steve said. “Might have picked up a kid who wants to see the world too.”

“Oh?” Barristan asked.

“Bowyer’s son, asked me if I would take him on. He seemed eager, so I told him so long as he got his parent’s permission…” Steve said, shrugging.

“I suspect he will have it,” Barristan said, shaking his head. “Service with a noble is not to be passed on without good reason.”

“We needed someone to drive the cart anyway,” Steve said. “And he says he’s a good shot with the bow.”

Barristan nodded. “Giving skill the chance to stand out despite low birth is always a good deed. Are you aware of the expectations that Westeros lays upon a noble in regards to their servants?”

“Naerys filled me in, and I figured that sounds like a job she’s suited for,” Steve said. “So I asked her how much I should be paying her, and that’s that.”

“If I suspected you would care about it, I would tell you just how unusual the arrangement between the two of you is by Westerosi standards,” Barristan said.

“I still can’t believe you don’t let women fight,” Steve said. “I mean, I can, but still.”

“It is the way the world turns,” Barristan said, seeming to neither agree or disagree.

“Not forever,” Steve said. “Give it time, and things will change for the better. Equal rights, equal opportunities...but that’s a whole other barrel of fish.”

“Quite,” Barristan said.

“I was hoping to give my thanks to the King for his hospitality,” Steve said. “How would I..?”

But Barristan was shaking his head. “I am afraid the King is indisposed. He will not be accepting visitors for the immediate future.”

“Should I talk to the Prince, then?” Steve asked, carefully avoiding implying he’d previously talked with the man.

“He rode out this morning with Ser Arthur, and is not expected back for some days,” Barristan said.

“Well, I can hardly just wait for them to be taking visitors,” Steve said, frowning.

Barristan coughed, covering a laugh. “Were you a sworn lord, you would be expected to do just that, Steve,” he said. “I will pass on your respects, in this case.”

“Appreciate it,” Steve said. Another reason to avoid swearing any sort of oath here.

“Did you have a reason for leaving so early?” Barristan asked. “The tourney is still more than a moon’s turn away.”

“Part of it is just to be getting away from King’s Landing,” Steve admitted. “But I also want to see more of your country, train Naerys and this new kid some, and get used to the weapon I picked up here.”

“You’ve taken up a new weapon?” Barristan asked. “It wouldn’t be another shield, would it?” His tone was wry.

Steve snorted. “You’ll just have to wait to find out at Harrenhal.”

“A mace,” Barristan guessed. “Or a sword. You’ve finally seen the light after all our spars.”

“Maybe,” Steve said. “Could be a battle axe.”

“Strong as you are, that’s a two handed weapon,” Barristan said. “Hmm. A flail?”

“Maybe,” Steve said again, grinning now. He got to his feet, pushing in his chair behind him. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“A spear,” Barristan said. “A weapon from your homeland?”

“See you at the tournament!” Steve called over his shoulder.

“Oh you’ll see me Steve,” Barristan said. “Right before I unhorse you!”

Steve shook his head with a smile as he closed the doors behind him. For a guy that was usually pretty proper, Barristan could be a bit of a joker.

X x X

With Aerys and Rhaegar not available to say his farewells to, Steve found himself following his feet in a fit of whimsy. He hadn’t spoken with the man he was on his way to see since entering the city, but he figured it was good to put a cap on things he’d been involved with like this. The guards barred his way at first, but after he explained his presence, let him pass with a bemused stare.

The jail cells of the Red Keep were several levels deep, but the man Steve was here to see was only on the first. Coarse stone walls and thick iron bars set the tone for decoration, and the scent of human stink did the rest. The cells were mostly empty, save for a couple of pickpockets in one cell, and the man that Steve was here to see in another. He didn’t move as Steve came to a stop before his cell.

“Ulmer,” Steve said by way of greeting. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Ulmer looked up from his sprawl in the corner and barked a rough laugh when he saw who his visitor was. “Lord America,” he said. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

“I’m leaving the city tomorrow, thought I’d say my farewells,” Steve said.

“Don’t be--wait, you’re serious,” Ulmer said, blinking. “By the Crone’s saggy tit, why.”

“The King isn’t accepting visitors,” Steve said.

Ulmer regarded him for a long moment. “Your homeland must be something else.”

“It has its moments,” Steve said. He looked around the hall he found himself in, cells on either side. Packed full, even one level could hold quite a few prisoners. “Speaking of the King, you were awful polite when we arrived. I didn’t think anything would have you holding your tongue.”

“I’ll mouth off to Lords and Sers no worries,” Ulmer said. “But I can tell when lip will get me killed.”

“You think he would have executed you for cheek?” Steve asked.

Ulmer shuddered. “I saw that look in his eyes. He was disappointed when he heard I was for the Wall.”

Steve thought back to the day in the throne room. He couldn’t deny there had been something off about the man.

“Sommat wrong with that one,” Ulmer muttered to himself. “Mark my words.”

Rather than bad mouth the King when the gaolers could be right around the corner, Steve moved on. “I don’t know if anyway told you, but Wenda and Fletcher escaped the fight,” he said.

Ulmer brightened, even in his cell of straw and filth. “Those sneaky buggers, how’d they manage that?”

“I let them trade their freedom in return for quitting the field,” Steve said. “Wenda had an arrow drawn on whoever the Smiling Knight was fighting; Barristan and Jaime I think.”

“That’s good to hear,” Ulmer said, smiling faintly. “They’re good sorts.”

“Here I thought they were outlaws,” Steve said.

“Outlaws and good sorts,” Ulmer said. “I hate to break it to you Lord America, but most of the nobles here are cunts.”

“You wouldn’t have wanted their company at the Wall?” Steve asked. “Could’ve been a new page for the three of you.”

Ulmer shuddered again, but this time it was more visceral. “Seven Above, no. Not Wenda. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

“You not heard of Brave Danny Flint yet?” Ulmer asked. “Ask a singer if you want the tale. Some folk ask for it when they want a sad song; the tale of Danny Flint, the girl who disguised herself as a man to defend the realm and got raped to death for it.” He gave a hollow laugh. “She died so bad that it’s remembered thousands of years on.”

Steve frowned, a slight thing that any number of dead men would have recognised. Every now and then he forgot that he was in a world much different to the one he knew, and that it was one that was even less kind to the weak and the powerless than his own. He could feel it, deep in his bones, that he was going to come across something in this land that wasn’t to be borne, and then there’d be trouble.

Well, trouble was why he had a shield. And a warhammer now, he figured.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Steve said, moving on from his thoughts and changing the subject.

“Black brothers don’t come by every week,” Ulmer said. “I’ll be freezing my balls off sooner or later though, don’t you worry.”

“That’s reassuring,” Steve said. “Cause I was definitely worrying about them.”

Ulmer let out a wheezing laugh. “You’re not too bad for a noble, America.”

“Your opinion means a lot to me,” Steve said. Gosh, he missed Bucky and Sam more than he thought if he was bantering like this with a guy he hardly knew.

“You’re not even here to ask about the hidden treasure of the Kingswood Brotherhood, are you?” Ulmer asked. “Had a few sneak in here and ask, you know.”

“There’s a hidden treasure?” Steve asked. “My share of the loot at your camp came to about a hundred gold as it is.”

“Course not, but that hasn’t stopped me from sending fools and dandies on wild chases,” Ulmer said.

Steve chuckled at the idea, and was quiet for a moment. “What made you do it, Ulmer?”

“What the goose chases?”

“The Brotherhood,” Steve said. “Kidnapping, ransoming, branding, killing. All of it.”

Ulmer was silent for a long moment, and Steve thought he might refuse to answer. “We all had a different reason,” he said at length. “Simon wanted revenge for his family. Wenda was angry and wanted some kind of justice. Ben cracked the wrong skulls. Fletcher killed a greedy tax collector. Fuck knows what that mad cunt Smiler wanted. Me...I was tired of being walked over. Nobles, they look at you the same as we look at the goats.” He spat. “I didn’t want to live in a world where some rich fuck could ride past me wearing more than I’d make in my lifetime toiling for him in a field.”

“You’re not lumping me in with them,” Steve said.

Ulmer gave him a look. “I still dunno what you are, but you’re no noble. Not like them that we know.”

Steve considered him for a moment. “I hate to break it to you, but there’s always going to be some rich dandy who spends more in a day than you’ll make in a lifetime. What matters more is making sure everyone else has enough to be happy.”

“Pretty words,” Ulmer said, “but I don’t think nobles have much care for the happiness of smallfolk.”

“Maybe not,” Steve said. “But then you don’t have to worry about everyone, just your family. Do you have anyone?”

“Nah,” Ulmer said, snorting. “Hardly would have joined the Brotherhood if I thought it might mean a wife being tossed to them sent to hunt me.”

“I don’t think Ser Selmy or the others are the type to do that,” Steve said, raising an eyebrow.

“Not them,” Ulmer said. “We were lucky to get them. You think nobles don’t have dogs they like to let loose on us?”

“Any noble who harms the innocent isn’t worth the name,” Steve said simply.

Ulmer gave a laughing wheeze. “Oh, I wish I could see you when you realise.”

Steve shrugged in response. He knew that what should be and what was were often different, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from calling things how he saw them.

“You’ll learn, one day,” Ulmer said. “You’ll learn.” He sounded tired.

“We’ll see,” Steve said. “Maybe if I’m ever up North I’ll drop by the Wall and say hello.”

“That’d be just grand, ‘cause you know I’ll be missing you,” Ulmer said.

On that note, Steve turned and left the bandit behind. Maybe they’d cross paths again, maybe they wouldn’t, but this chapter of his life was over.

X x X

True to his word, Robin met Steve and Naerys at the gates of the Red Keep just after dawn the next day. He had a sack slung over one shoulder, and an unstrung bow in his hand. He brightened when he was directed to take charge of the cart holding their more bulky possessions, hopping up to take the reins and revealing poorly fitting shoes that didn’t look like they’d last long on the road. Steve and Naerys led the way astride Fury and Swiftstride as they made their way through the first stirrings of the city. It did not take them long, and then they were passing through the city gates and out onto the Kingsroad, heading north to Harrenhal and further adventures.

As they left King’s Landing behind, Steve glanced back over his shoulder. The city hadn’t exactly grown on him, but his week there had been a welcome respite, and a chance to catch his breath in this new world. Maybe he’d return someday, after establishing himself with the winnings of the tournament and he had room to breathe. Still, it wasn’t going anywhere. He had time.

Steve has recovered his shield, and departed King’s Landing without starting a war or being declared outlaw. He has established himself as a man to watch amongst the knights and certain nobles of the Red Keep, and so far avoided the attentions of too many players of the Game, save a Spider who watches all. Harrenhal awaits, as does the glory of victory if only he can seize it, but there is more of consequence waiting at the tournament than simple martial contests. Harrenhal awaits...but first he has to get there.