A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

Robin was as much falling forwards as he was staggering onwards, one more shattered figure in a crowd of scores laid low by the obstacle course. They followed as Walt and Keladry led the way towards the holiest of holies: a chair to slump in, and a meal to eat. He just hoped it wouldn’t take too much effort to do so.

When the muster had expanded last, a large square had been left unused, marked out by pegs in the ground, and now he saw why. In the middle, poles had been stabbed into the dirt, and a canvas tarp stretched between them as a roof, two long runs of tables beneath it. More importantly, was the makeshift kitchen at one end, the bubbling cauldrons full of stew and the kegs beside them. There was even a table full of fresh loaves of bread. A breeze carried the scent of beef and potato with it, giving the approaching crowd the burst of energy they needed to make it to their goal.

Stacks of bowls and spoons filled a table by the pots, and servants ladled out hearty servings for every man to approach. There was no jockeying for position, every man was struggling enough just to remain standing. The quick witted so-and-so who got the banner down was already eating, though that might’ve been overly generous - they were sitting, head almost falling into their bowl, and his friends were quick to join him, elbowing him awake as they sat.

Robin sank onto the first bench he found, after getting his bowl of stew and mug of water. He sucked it down greedily, and it was empty far too soon. Thankfully, more servants were going down the tables with small kegs of water, refilling goblets and mugs and tankards. Few were the men who chose ale over water that day.

A man sat next to him with a clatter of armour, moving like every motion was an effort. Given he’d just gone through what Robin had but in full plate armour, it likely was. The table continued to fill up around him, and he realised it was mostly knights, even if they weren’t armoured; it was easy enough to tell. He expected to be asked to move, to sit with his own people, and he wondered if he could get away with pretending not to hear it. As he ate slowly, however, no such order was forthcoming, and with a start he realised why. Steve had called him out as his squire before the whole group. They thought he was one of them. Such thoughts were too heavy for now, and could wait for a time he wasn’t struggling to lift his spoon.

The makeshift eating hall was quiet, and the only sounds were the clinking of cutlery and what chatter crept in from the rest of the camp. He was mopping up juice with a hunk of bread and his head was starting to droop when the man across from him raised his head to look at him.

“Your knight master,” the man said, every word an effort. “He’s big on fitness then?”

Robin grunted an affirmative.

“He’s going to push us until we’re as strong as he is,” the knight said, in a tone usually reserved for news that reinforcements weren’t coming, or that the walls had been taken.

“Can’t,” Robin said, shaking his head. “No one is.”

The table considered what they had seen of their new employer that day, running the course again and again with an encouraging smile and friendly advice.

“He’s going to make us try anyway, isn’t he?” another knight asked.

Robin nodded, and despair settled over the table.

“At least it’ll get easier?” one naive fool said hopefully.

Dark mutterings were his answer, and if any had had the strength, a bread roll would have been thrown at him.

“Hope you like running,” Robin muttered, licking his bowl clean.

Silent commiseration spread between them, and Robin’s words would prove to be prophetic.

X

The next day started well, with a breakfast worthy of a lord’s table, but turned for the worse quickly with a morning run, and even the revelation of what benefits they could look forward to barely made up for the introduction of ‘suicides’ and ‘planks’. It was a grimly determined group that jogged back to camp that afternoon, already daydreaming of dinner, but they were not there yet.

“Every man will take a spear, and find an open place,” Keladry ordered, standing in her armour with her glaive held at rest beside her.

If Robin hadn’t known better, he would have laughed at the thought of her being a woman. The blade of her weapon was as long as his forearm, and her muscles were more apparent than almost everyone in the company except Steve and a few others. Like the rest, he shuffled past the racks of spears, and found himself a free space where they had gathered at the edge of the camp. He was pretty sure he knew what was coming next.

As the company readied themselves, Keladry took up position in the centre of them, compelling everyone to turn inwards to face her.

“I am going to teach you a basic spear pattern,” she said, voice rising above them. She didn’t have Steve’s way of being heard, but they heard her all the same. “For those of you without weapons training, this is it. For those who have it, this will serve as exercise. Watch as I demonstrate.”

None questioned her, even if one or two of the knights and men-at-arms looked put out. At quarter speed, she began to run through the movements, making it look easy. For those with the eyes to see, her control over the weapon was clear, and they winced at the thought of going up against it. The pattern was one Robin knew, having been taught it with Lyanna and Toby shortly after Harrenhal.

“He is clearly skilled, but surely our time would be better spent on our swordwork,” one knight in the row in front of Robin muttered to a friend.

“Do you want to go up there and tell him that?” the friend muttered back. “In front of everyone?”

“I don’t know about you, but I want to be promoted,” a third knight said. He was one of the few knights who still wore armour every day. “I’ll learn it, and learn it well.”

“We’re already knights,” the first man said.

“You need to open your ears more, Yorick,” the third man said. “There’s over one hundred men here, and only two officers as yet.”

“You think we won’t be chosen?” Yorick said. “There aren’t that many of us.”

“Ser Rogers mentioned promotions by distinction. Teaching the less skilled seems a fine way to achieve that. I’ll wager two months' pay that Ser Rogers promotes at least one smallfolk.”

“He’s right,” Robin said, interrupting them. His eyes were still on Keladry as she moved through the pattern once more. “Walt and Keladry aren’t knights, either.”

The three men glanced back at him, not quite startled.

“Knights lead,” Yorick said, though there was a vein of doubt in his words.

“First thing he did was break us from the groups we settled into,” the third man said. “Mark my words, he’s building this company carefully. If you want to excel…”

“You spend too much time thinking, Henry,” the second man said, and then the time for conversation was done, Keladry commanding them to attempt the pattern themselves.

Despite their words, neither of the doubters were slow to follow.

X

That evening, when he wished for nothing more than a hug from Lyanna and the softness of his bed, Robin traipsed across the guest wing with a rolled piece of parchment courtesy of Steve. The intended recipient was one Robin had technically met, though not in what anyone would call favourable circumstances. He knocked on the door, half hoping that there would be no response so he could sleep all the sooner.

“Come in,” a man said.

Robin stepped through the door, fighting the urge to duck his head in respect. “Lord Baratheon,” he said, looking about the room. “I’ve a message from Ser Rogers for you.”

“Lord Baratheon is my elder brother,” Stannis said from the chair he sat in, over by the window. His stump was propped up on another chair in front of him.

“Lord Stannis,” Robin corrected himself, keeping his eyes off the stump.

“Let’s see it then,” Stannis said. His tone suggested Robin hadn’t been as successful as he might have hoped, and he approached to hand it over.

Stannis unfurled the scroll to glance over it, already opening his mouth to say something, but what he saw caught his attention. His jaw closed with a click and he unfurled it further, eyes scanning across the parchment. “Where did Steve get this?”

“He did it himself,” Robin said. “Last night and today.”

“The detail…” Stannis said, looking at an illustration of a leg without skin, muscles on display.

“Steve’s great at that,” Robin said. “You should see his paintings.”

Dragging his gaze away from the parchment, Stannis seemed to remember himself. “Give Ser Rogers my thanks, Goodman Longstride.”

“My lord,” Robin said, glad to be leaving. He was halfway to the door when he was stopped.

“Wait,” Stannis said. His stare was a piercing thing. “Steve said that you shot the man who took my leg. Is that so?”

Robin swallowed, but nodded. “There were two guards that ambushed you. I put an arrow through the eye of the one who shot you, and the other I got through the neck.”

Whatever the Baratheon’s thoughts, they were hidden behind considering blue eyes. “Good luck in your squiring,” he said at length. “You understand the opportunity it is.” It was not a question.

Robin nodded. He was well aware of the sharp turn his fate had taken because he had spoken up all those months ago in King’s Landing. Stannis turned back to the window, and he took that as his cue to leave, closing the door behind him.

He hoped he wouldn’t have to speak with too many nobles, that he could hide behind Steve for that sort of thing, but he had a feeling his hopes wouldn’t be answered.

X

Even if his life hadn’t changed all that much since the mad adventure in King’s Landing, being an official squire did come with some perks. The room in the castle was one, the privacy it provided far and beyond better than what could be found in a two man tent with the rest of the company down in the muster. Robin did his best to smother the wide smile he wore as he and Lyanna joined Steve and Naerys in the salon of their suite. Going by the raised brow Steve gave them as they sat at the table for breakfast, he hadn’t been too successful, and he fought the urge to rub at his lips.

“I can arrange to have what isn’t eaten at the feasts shared with the men,” Naerys said, continuing their conversation.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Steve said, “the food they serve isn’t quite what we want. I’ll write up a list and make arrangements.”

Small mercies, it didn’t seem like another Talk was imminent, and he helped himself to a slice of toast, spreading some preserve over it before handing it to Lyanna. Her fingers brushed up against his as she took it, and he couldn’t help the blush.

“You’ll give me the list, and I’ll make arrangements,” Naerys said. She still found time to give him and Lyanna a tolerant smirk.

Lyanna looked pointedly between Naerys and Steve in response, but Naerys only grew amused. Robin kept his head down, focusing on buttering some toast for himself. He was starting to understand why his older brothers would often keep quiet when they brought their sweethearts to meet Ma.

“Elbert mentioned his uncle was interested in how I’m running things, so he might be the one to talk to,” Steve said. “Elbert, I mean.”

“I suspect Lord Arryn is more interested in keeping you happy,” Naerys said, “but I will.”

Steve pulled the face that he did whenever he took advantage of being a noble, but nodded.

“What do we look forward to today, Steve?” Robin asked, finishing his toast. Being able to give hints to the others on what to dread each day had helped him make friends with some of them.

“Fun and games, Robin,” Steve said. “Fun and games.” His smile wasn’t reassuring.

Robin swallowed his food, and bumped his shoulder to Lyanna’s in hurried goodbye, making for the door. If he was quick, he could warn the others and eat a proper meal as the mess.

A bowl of porridge with an extra serving of fruit and honey had been put aside for him, and it was handed over when he shared the bad news. Word quickly spread through the company, and they braced themselves for another of Steve’s ideas of ‘fun’, making the most of their time in the shade of the mess.

“He’s coming,” Henry said as he glimpsed him approaching down a lane, in much the same tone one might say ‘taxman’ or ‘slave driver’. The knight rubbed at dark stubble on his cheek.

Bowls and cups were given to over to Betty and her girls to clean, some men attempting to charm a dollop of honey or piece of fruit from her, but the tough lady was unmoved by their efforts. They hurried out into the sun, assembling in the square that had been left open after tents had been set up for all the men, arranging themselves into the rows that seemed to satisfy their commander best. Robin found himself pushed to the front row, and clasped his arms behind his back, falling into the stance that Steve commonly took and all the men tried to mimic.

“Good morning men,” Steve said, starting the day with cheer. Keladry was at his side as usual, and Walt was lurking somewhere they couldn’t see. “Today, we’re going to start with a game I call tug of war.”

Robin had warned them and word had spread, but still many grimaced. They were already learning that nothing good came when their leader was enthusiastic about an exercise.

“You see those ropes behind me?” Steve asked. There were six heavy ropes, lying straight in the dirt at his back, and a faint furrow carved perpendicular to them. “You’re going to get into teams of ten, pick another group, and then try to pull them over that line. Understand?”

“Yes ser!”

“Good. The team with the most wins gets a keg of Arbor Red to celebrate.”

The somewhat orderly lines quickly dissolved as the men regressed to their days of childhood games, seeking to build the strongest team they could. Robin found himself on a team with some of the slingers. They almost recruited the pair of twins, smallfolk almost as large as Steve, but Henry swooped in and wooed them away at the last moment, giving Robin a wink as he did, and they made do with two hoary old guardsmen.

Once assembled, each group approached a rope and tried to pick a group they thought they could beat. For some reason, no one took up the other side of Henry’s group, filled with strong knights, the twins, and anchored by Hugo, the huge man from Walt’s village.

“Does this mean we win?” Hugo called, his time with them in the mountains making him more at ease with cheeking Steve than the others.

“Well, we’ll see,” Steve said, approaching them. He took up the other side of the rope. “If you can pull me across that line, I guess you do.” He seemed quite serious.

There was a moment of cocksureness, as the stacked team sensibly dismissed any chance of one man beating ten in a contest of strength. Then, their thoughts caught up with them, and they remembered just what they had seen that one man do so far.

“We’ll start on Keladry’s whistle,” Steve said, stretching his arms out. It drew the eye to the thickly corded muscle of his limbs.

Robin took up his own rope, sharing a glance with the blond beside him. “Better them than us,” he muttered.

“Too right,” was the answer. The blond was older than he, but younger than Keladry. “I’m Osric.”

“Robin,” he answered. “Let’s get that Red.”

There was a redhead across from them, grinning at Osric in challenge, and he made a crude gesture. They took up the rope, setting themselves, muscles tense. There was a moment of silence, and their anticipation grew. Then, Keladry whistled.

Robin was strong for his age, and his enjoyment of archery from a young age had seen his shoulders grow broad and his arms thicken, but he was still the youngest person on the rope. Grunts and mighty exertions filled the air, and passerbys slowed to see what madness Lord America was putting his men through now. Robin found himself grinning as he dug his feet into the dirt, gaining ground inch by inch. It was not easy, but his team proved to have the advantage, and with a great final heave, they pulled the first man on the other side over the line. A cheer rang out, and not only from them, as he found himself clapping the brown haired man who had beaten Steve’s banner challenge on the back; other teams had proven victorious too. It did not take long for all the contests to be decided…save for one.

The young archer was not the only one to watch the final battle, though he was one of the least surprised. Alone, Steve held his own against ten, strong men all. They watched agog as their commander began to draw his opponents in one arm at a time, ever closer to the line, but somehow they managed to stall him there. Their faces were turning red with effort, and they could hardly spare the effort to breathe. Still, it seemed that they just didn’t have the strength to overcome - but then Steve’s feet slipped in the dirt. Only the barest amount, but slip they did, digging in, and it gave them new life. Sucking in deep breaths, they gave it their all, and they gained another inch. Men were cheering now, not for one side or another, purely for the spectacle, as their commander put on a display of raw strength that would have them gossiping and boasting for days.

In the end, the contest lasted minutes more, but one man could never outmuscle ten, and the conclusion was inevitable. To Robin’s eye it seemed that the ground had proved the deciding factor, as Steve was pulled over the line, heels leaving furrows in the dirt. Those who fought against him collapsed immediately, chests heaving, staring up at the sky or holding their heads between their knees.

Steve himself was shaking his hands out, dusting them off with a satisfied look on his face. “Looks like you won,” he said to the exhausted and trembling group in various states of disarray. “Good work. Now you just need to beat the other teams too.”

Henry, the knight, forced himself to his feet, though still he supported himself with his hands on his knees. He gave Steve a disbelieving stare, a look of slow understanding crossing his face. Robin felt a moment of kinship with the man. He remembered the moment when he had first understood that Steve lived for the suffering of others in the name of self improvement.

He wasn’t the only one. His brown haired teammate, Ren he thought their name was, was giving the knight a look of commiseration. As if sensing his gaze, Ren looked towards him, and Robin gave him a grim nod. They would suffer together.

In the end, there was a draw between two teams, and they were preparing their exhausted frames for a deciding bout, only for Steve to reveal that he had acquired enough Arbor Red to share amongst them all. There were many dark mutterings that evening, as they enjoyed their bounty in the mess, and a popular pastime of complaining emerged, each complaint becoming more and more outrageous.

Personally, Robin thought it unlikely that Maegor the Cruel had ever asked Steve for tips on leadership, but he couldn’t rule it out either.

X

Steve’s disappointed frown had a way of making men feel small, and the company as a whole was discovering that for themselves that day.

It was almost the end of the first week of training, and they were halfway through their morning run. Steve had been doing laps of the column, as was his habit, and while it seemed that some of the fitter recruits now had the energy to talk during the run, their topic of discussion was not the most pleasing. They sat now in the shade of a small copse, Steve standing before them. Walt was glowering behind him, displeased with the world as a whole, and Keladry watched them from the side, face expressionless. Robin felt like he should duck his head, and he hadn’t even done anything wrong. Even Dodger’s tail had stopped wagging as he sat by Steve’s foot, legs splayed out.

“I know what was said, was said without malice,” Steve said, “and I don’t intend to embarrass anyone by naming names.” He looked over them, gaze not lingering. “All the same, I’m going to nip this in the bud. Some of you are better trained than others. Some of you have fought before, and some had never picked up a proper weapon last week.” He leaned forward, frown deepening. “That doesn’t mean you have less to contribute to this company, or that your efforts are worth less. Every soldier here has value. All of you bring something to the table.”

Silence stretched out, but then a knight spoke up.

“Ser,” he said, drawing eyes. “I think it were my words that you heard?”

Almost imperceptibly, Steve gave a nod.

“I don’t mean to say that anyone is worth less,” he said, voice growing surer as he spoke. “We all started somewhere, even if some of us were boys, but you can’t say a fresh smallfolk recruit can fight as well as a trained knight.”

It was a fair argument put fairly, but Robin had heard the same attitude put less kindly by others when the speaker was more sure they wouldn’t be overheard. Going by the look on Steve’s face, maybe they hadn’t been sure enough.

“You’re right,” Steve said. “But no war is fought by one type of warrior, and as well trained as you are, knights alone won’t win this war.”

This didn’t go down without note, and now some of the knights were frowning.

“Osric,” Steve said, and the former goatherd that Robin had gotten to know over the week straightened.

“Ser?”

“When was the first time you held a spear?”

“This week, ser,” Osric said, not looking away from Steve as many in the company looked to him.

“You ever killed a man?”

“No ser.”

“Ever been in a fight?”

“I knocked my uncle’s teeth out once,” Osric said, back of his neck colouring as some chuckled despite the atmosphere.

Steve smiled lightly. “You see that tree we passed, with the low branch almost poking over the path?”

“Aye ser,” Osric said, glancing back down the path. It wasn’t a large branch, maybe half the thickness of a man’s arm.

“Shoot it off the trunk,” Steve ordered.

Osric didn’t hesitate, getting to his feet and retrieving a stone from his pocket. His sling was over his shoulder, and he loaded it with practised ease, beginning to spin it above his head. After building speed, he released his breath and the stone in the same moment.

There was a faint whistle and a crack, and the branch, some fifty metres away, hung limply from the trunk, dangling by a flimsy connection. Robin thought it was a decent enough shot.

“Good shot,” Steve said to the young man as he sat back down, before turning to the company as a whole. “Now imagine catching that with your face, or your horse taking it to the leg.”

“I would want to be wearing my plate,” another knight, one of Henry’s friends, said.

“If that branch had been wearing plate, it might still be alive, yeah,” Steve said, stirring some more laughs. “But I want all of you to remember what I said the other day: everyone fights, everyone cleans, everyone suffers together. I will not have this company divided by class.” He let his words linger, surveying them once more. “If anyone wishes to discuss this with me further in private, my door is open. Until then, I think your break has gone on long enough.”

Steve’s way was obviously foreign, but Robin knew that he preferred it to the way things were usually done. The way things were usually done would have him carrying and fetching for coppers, not participating in great tourneys and going on adventures for gold.

They also wouldn’t have him running for leagues upon leagues, so maybe he shouldn’t be too quick to condemn the old way. He’d think it over more after the run was over. He began to fall back into the breathing pattern that helped him run, as they set off once more.

X

The aches and pains were starting to get better as his body got used to the torture, but better didn’t mean gone, and he dreamed of the day that Steve promised would come when his exercises became easy.

They were in the salon once more, gathered mostly for the sake of being together, though if Robin had his way he would be laying down. Unfortunately for his poor muscles, Steve was working on his painting, something that had caught Lyanna’s interest, and so there he was. His sweetheart had his leg in her lap as he sat slumped in his own chair, her thumbs digging into the meat of his calf and providing sweet relief, but her eyes were focused on the partly finished painting that had taken shape over the course of the evening.

Toby was suffering through a lesson on letters he had snuck out from earlier, but he didn’t have to suffer through what Robin did, so he wasn’t feeling much sympathy for the kid’s glum face as Naerys taught him.

“Where did you learn this Steve?” Lyanna asked. They were all comfortable with calling their lord by his name, something helped on by Steve’s own insistence.

“I went to school for it,” Steve said, as he used a knife of all things to spread snow across the mountains he had created from blank canvas.

“Your home has a school for painting?” Lyanna asked, impressed.

“We’ve got schools for a lot of things,” Steve said.

Lyanna gave an envious sigh. “I wish I could paint like that.”

Robin already knew what would happen next.

“I could teach you,” Steve said.

“Really?!” Lyanna asked, spine straightening and her massage halting. Robin held back a pout.

“Sure,” Steve said. “Like anything, it takes a lot of practise, but I could show you.” He frowned as he looked over his easel and brushes. “I’d need to find a place to buy more supplies first though.”

“Robin showed me the portrait you did of him with charcoal,” Lyanna said. “I’d love to learn something like that.” Her hands resumed their magic, and Robin felt himself starting to drowse.

“Soon as we find the time,” Steve promised. His attention was taken up by what looked like a difficult bit of work, and conversation lapsed.

A short while later, Toby’s lesson came to an end, and Naerys rose from her seat at the table, stretching out her back. She drifted over to stand behind Steve, resting a hand on his shoulder and leaning into him.

“Any who thought your gift to Ned and Ashara a fluke will think again,” she said, admiring the almost completed piece.

“If I’m going to visit these famous places, I might as well paint them,” Steve said.

“What happened to your painting of the Titan?” Naerys asked.

“Still rolled up,” Steve said, indicating his room with a jerk of his chin.

“I’ll have it framed,” Naerys said, nodding decisively. “This one, too.”

“We’ll be a travelling art exhibition,” Steve joked. “Don’t forget you’re writing the tales of our adventures, too.”

Naerys reached down to give him a light slap on the chest, smoothing it over afterwards. “We probably should leave them somewhere for safekeeping. It would be a tragedy to see them damaged.”

“Plenty here who would fall over themselves to mind them,” Robin said, stirred to wakefulness by the conversation.

“Bet some would do you a favour for the privilege too,” Lyanna added.

Steve thought it over for a moment. “What about Eleni and Kelda?”

The door to the suite opened, and Keladry entered, Dodger at her heels after a walk. “Kelda?” she asked.

“Thinking about who to leave Steve’s paintings with when we leave for the Stormlands,” Naerys said.

Keladry considered it for a moment. “Having the care of that painting could lend a certain social cachet.” She moved on to her room, likely seeking a bath, and Dodger disappeared under the table.

“Ma likes pretty things,” Toby said.

“Eleni and Kelda then,” Steve said. He took up a delicate brush and began to put the final touches on his work. “You should get some sleep, Robin,” he said. “We’re going on a little march through the countryside starting tomorrow.”

Robin looked away from Lyanna, apprehension making its home on his face. “‘Starting tomorrow’,” he repeated. Steve gave him a sunny smile, and he groaned.

Lyanna gave his leg a final squeeze and pushed it off her lap. “Goodnight,” she said, attention still held by the painting.

He held back a grumble as he made for his room. If it weren’t his own fault, he’d give the one responsible for his woes a good beating. He hoped the march wouldn’t be too bad, but he had a sinking suspicion it would be.