A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

It was easy to book passage back to Gulltown, another comfortable carrack serving as their vessel. Lyanna stank of ginger for the entire trip after a helpful sailor had suggested it to her as an answer to seasickness after seeing her standing on the dock, staring at the ship with dread in her eyes. She was still miserable, but had only been forced to run for the side rail twice, and was counting it as a win.

Their time in Gulltown was again short, as demanded by the tides, but long enough to visit both the stable that had boarded their horses, and the blacksmith that had forged their new armour. Naerys had taken the kids to the stables, while Steve and Keladry had made for the blacksmith.

Life had changed dramatically for Keladry Delnaimn ever since she had joined the household of Steve Rogers. Gone were the days of needing to hunt to eat, no longer did armour maintenance mean trying to hold together a battered and fraying suit. Now were days of plenty, of good food and better companionship.

She followed as her lord led the way to a respectable blacksmith, an apprentice running to fetch the master when he saw them.

“Master Dale,” Ser Steve said when the man arrived.

“Lord Rogers,” the smith said. “Here for the armour?”

“That’s right.”

“Follow me,” Dale said. He glanced at Keladry for a moment. “The second plate is for them?” Steve nodded, and the man huffed. “Thought so,” he muttered to himself.

The smith led them deeper into his shop, the sounds and smells of the smithy surrounding them. They came to a heavy table, three sets of armour laid out upon it, but covered by cloth.

“For the lady with you last time,” Dale said, pulling back a portion of the cloth. Gleaming steel was revealed, along with dark boiled leather. The steel cuirass looked light and easy to move in, while legs of hard leather would provide a middle ground between protection and agility, especially for one of Naerys’ build. For the arms, vambraces in the same style as the leggings, designed to sit comfortably with the cuirass. Keladry would not fancy fighting mountain clansmen in it, but it would serve Naerys well, whether she should be duelling bravos or in need of basic protection while running Ser Steve’s household as she followed him on campaign. The etching of a five-pointed star on the breast of the cuirass spoke of the wearer’s allegiance.

“I think Naerys will appreciate this,” Steve said.

“It looks most fine,” Keladry agreed.

Master Dale gave a small bow in thanks, moving on to the next. He swept the cloth back, and Keladry felt her breath catch in her throat.

It was perfect. It was every inch what she had imagined as a young woman, day dreaming of a world without responsibility, where she could simply ride off into the kingdoms to do righteous deeds. An armet helm sat on top of the armour, two slits in the visor giving it a look of implacable lethality. The cuirass shone under the light of the forge, and the rondels that protected the joints near the arms bore Steve’s five-pointed star. Well articulated gauntlets, vambraces, high pauldrons to protect her neck, strong tassets to protect her waist, everything down to the sabatons - it was everything she had dreamed of, and it was hers. There was little artistry to it, the stars on the rondels the only allowance for it, but that just made her love it more. This was armour to do battle in, to protect the small and the weak in. It was perfect.

“Thank you, my lord,” Keladry said, turning to Ser Steve. “I’ll prove worthy of it.”

“I already know you’re worthy,” Ser Steve said, shrugging. “Did you want to try it on?”

Keladry hesitated. She dearly wanted to, but they did not have an overabundance of time.

“It is made to match your previous armour exactly,” Dale said, looking Keladry in the eye. “Every detail was recreated.”

Keladry remembered the quiet word she had had with the overworked armourer at Harrenhal, of requesting several small modifications to make it more comfortable for her. “I appreciate that, Master Smith.”

Dale grunted, but nodded, moving on to the last. “I am very proud of this piece.” He said no more, revealing it and stepping back.

Steve’s brows shot up, and Keladry’s nearly joined him. It was the kind of armour to make a man feel immortal, closer to a mobile castle than plate armour, but with his strength she knew he would bear it easily. Beyond what one would expect from fine plate armour, several aspects stood out to her. A high steel gorget would defend his neck, and the vambrace of his main-hand looked to be half an inch thick on the back, a weapon in its own right. A fleur-de-lis decorated the left pauldron, and in the centre of the cuirass sat his star, proudly announcing his identity. With it lay everything a knight might want to wear under armour, the gambeson and quilted breeches done in his colours: blue, white, and red.

“Naerys really outdid herself,” Steve said to himself. Now he was the one to look tempted to try it on, but he visibly talked himself out of it. “Not to mention you, Master Dale. This is great.”

“I appreciate your words, and your custom,” Dale said.

They did not linger long, two apprentices packing the armour away into chests and being sent along with them to carry it to their ship. Keladry’s mind was on her armour every step of the way. She would prove worthy of it. She would.

X

It was when they were halfway from Gulltown to Maidenpool that their luck turned foul. The sailors' mood changed, their actions turned hurried, and the bearing of the ship turned for the northern shore. A quiet word with the captain led Keladry to discover that they were taking on water, and would need to make for the town of Wickenden lest they sink. A quieter word from Naerys led the captain to think it best that the passengers be partially reimbursed for the inconvenience. Before the day was out, they had made it to Wickenden, and unloaded their belongings.

“None of the docked ships are heading west,” Keladry reported, after having spoken to the few crews present. Wickenden was a quiet town, surrounded by larger and more successful ports.

“The road is in good enough condition,” Naerys said. “We would skirt the Mountains of the Moon, and reach Riverrun within the month.”

“How long would it take us if we went by ship?” Ser Steve asked.

“Three weeks, but that assumes we can find passage.”

Steve considered their words. It was one of the innumerable things that she appreciated about his leadership. “How dangerous is passing by the Mountains?” He looked to Keladry and her boy.

“‘S fine so long as you don’t go muckin’ about in the mountains,” Toby said.

Keladry held back a sigh. One day she would drum manners into his head, but not today. “Mountain clans are not likely to strike travellers down by the bay,” she said.

“We’ll go by road,” Steve said at length. “There’s no guarantee of a ship coming, and we can handle any trouble that might pop up.”

They did not dawdle, checking over the horses and wagon before setting out, truly stretching their legs for the first time in weeks. After the confines of the ship, and the closed in nature of Braavos, it was a relief to be on the road again, even if it meant sleeping in a tent again. She picked up her riding lessons for Lyanna where they had left off, and did the same for Naerys with her sword. There was a calmness that came with giving instruction that she found appealed to her, and a small joy in seeing a student improve.

They made good time, Toby ensuring that the horses had no trouble and gave none, and they passed few people on the road. Those that they did spoke of peace and prosperity, the King’s Peace holding strong. She couldn’t help but look to the north, towards a small part of the Vale that she once called home. Their party would range out as they travelled, safe in the knowledge that anyone who attacked would be biting off more than they could chew. Toby in particular took great joy in galloping ahead, giving his mounts free reign to run to their heart's content. He disappeared over the horizon or around a bend at times, but he knew not to stay out of sight for too long.

A week and a half into their journey, there came a day when Toby rode ahead and did not come back when he ought to have. She noticed first, of course, but it was not long before Steve also picked up on it. There was no conversation, no hysterics, but they pressed their heels to their mounts’ flanks, picking up the pace.

An anxious half hour passed, and she kept her composure by dint of the steady trail she could pick out, left in the soft ground. If her boy had let his head wander off in the clouds, she was going to give him an earful.

Finally, they caught up to him, catching sight of where he sat, still mounted, as they rounded a bend in the hills.

“Toby,” she called as they approached.

Quicksilver’s ear flicked back, but he gave no sign of having heard her.

“Toby,” she called again as they grew nearer.

Her boy shifted now, but still didn’t answer. Steve hung back as she trotted up to him, near enough to hear but giving them their space. She looked down at what had caught his attention so. It was a large boulder, half buried in the earth and of an unusual mottled white colour. Her attention had been so focused on him that she hadn’t registered it.

“Toby,” she said a third time, gently.

“I know this place,” Toby said, staring at the boulder.

“You’ve been here before?”

“Ma told me about it,” Toby said.

Keladry felt a jolt.

“Told me about this rock, said it were a landmark she used to use, afore she was taken,” he continued. He finally looked up and around. “Her village was near here.” To the north, there was a small trail breaking off from the main road. He looked down it, and Quicksilver took a step towards it, unbidden.

Keladry opened her mouth to tell him that they would follow it, to find his mother’s village, but she remembered that it wasn’t her decision. More than that, they were on a schedule. They didn’t have the time to spare, not if they wanted to make it to Riverrun before the weddings. She looked to Steve.

“We’re on a tight schedule to make it to Riverrun,” Steve said reluctantly, “but afterwards, we’ll come straight back here and see what we can find.”

Toby sagged, looking back at the stone. Keladry placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Toby,” Steve said quietly, riding up to his other side. “We will return. I promise.”

“S’ been years,” he said. “I don’t even know if she’s still alive with the clan. I just want to see where she came from.”

“You will,” Steve said with finality. “As soon as this is done, you will.”

“Thanks,” Toby muttered. He rubbed his sleeve across his face. “C’mon. Sooner we get to Riverrun sooner we’re back, right?”

“That’s it,” Steve said. “You want to race?” Without warning, he tapped Fury’s flanks, the warhorse surging forward.

“Oi!” Toby shouted, Quicksilver already breaking into a gallop.

Keladry felt Malorie sigh beneath her, as if she knew they’d be joining them. She scratched the mare behind the ears. “I’ll sneak you an apple later,” she promised. “Now come on.” She whistled, and they were off. The road to Riverrun was still a long one.