A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

Naerys’ head lolled back, her eyelids fluttering, and she let out a ragged moan as Steve worked his magic. They were laid out in the bath, the bastard woman resting back on the super soldier’s chest. The water still steamed lightly, and there was an empty jar of honey on its side.

“Mmm, just like that,” Naerys said, luxuriating in the sensations. An absent hand trailed along his thigh that braced her in place.

Steve had seen less contentment on sunbathing cats. He brought his other hand into play, earning another happy sigh as he massaged her scalp, working in an oil that smelt of almond and rosemary. “I’ll ask our hosts if they have any to spare,” he said.

“Only you would take a castle and take small luxuries for your loot,” Naerys said, voice almost drowsy.

“I’d pay them for it,” Steve said. “This is a lot better than that wood ash mixture we’ve been using.”

“Mmmm,” Naerys said. With the hand not tracing circles on his thigh, she raised a palmful of water and let it splash and trickle back down.

Steve began to gather up handfuls of water to work through his lover’s hair, drawing out the excess oil. It was late now, the feast surely well and truly over, and he could see stars twinkling through the shutters of the window above the bath. Naerys shifted, a small motion, but it was done with intent, and he paused. “If you keep that up, I won’t be finishing with your hair.”

She twitched her hips again, grinding herself into him, and he rose to the occasion, slipping between her cheeks. “Oh no,” she said. She used his thighs to push herself up, only to slide torturously back down. “How awful.”

He captured her chin and tilted her head, leaning in for a kiss. Both smiled into it, but Naerys’ had a wicked tinge to it as she continued to rock her hips.

Steve abandoned her hair and went to tease at the crook of her thigh, tweaking a nipple on the way down. “We have laws against this kind of cruel and unusual punishment back home, you know,” he said.

As close as they were, there was no way Steve could have missed the way minute pause in her motions and the slight tensing of her shoulders.

“Naerys?” Steve asked. He drew back, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

She sighed, letting herself go slack against his chest. “Nothing is wrong,” she said. “Tonight was…amazing. This is all beyond even the most outlandish dreams I allowed myself to have back at Sharp Point, it is just…”

“Just?” Steve prompted her, resting his hands on her stomach.

“Your home. You share so much about the people, but you don’t like to speak of the places, or what it’s all like,” she said, worrying at her fingers. “What you’ve shared - I know it’s different, further from how a Targaryen would live than they are from the poorest smallfolk.” She took a breath. “I just worry what will happen when home finds you. I know I’m closer to a smallfolk than a Targaryen.”

“Naerys,” Steve murmured. One hand wrapped around her waist, and the other came up to wrap around her shoulders, cradling her. Cold was just a word when he held her close, and it had nothing to do with the heated bath. “My friends will find me, but my home will become a home for you as well, if you want it.”

She made a noise of agreement, but the tension in her body remained.

“Hey,” he said, “people are people, remember? My home is different, but you’ll adjust, same as I did.” He gave her a squeeze. “You taught me the language, how to ride a horse, which spoon to use. Least I could do is return the favour, even before what you mean to me.”

The blonde twisted in his arms so she could face him, her spine curving as she propped herself up on his chest. She didn’t speak, not at first, taking a long moment to look him over. “I don’t doubt my place in your heart. Not after all you’ve done.”

“I’m told performing a martial feat in a lady’s name is something of a romantic gesture,” Steve said, straight faced.

She thumped him on the chest. “Not just because of that, but because of all the days before that. You’ve taught me to fight, given me position and respect, given me what I need to stand on my own - even back in Sharp Point after you beat my oaf of a cousin, your first thought was about what your actions would mean for me. That is why I don’t doubt. Not you. I just…worry.”

“I know,” he said. His hands settled at the small of her back, helping her stay in place. “I won’t tell you not to worry, but the things you worry about won’t happen. I won’t let them.”

“I know,” she said, echoing him. She leaned in for a chaste kiss, and only pulled back when it threatened to become less than chaste. “You know that when knights speak of doing valorous deeds for a lady, they mean at tournaments, yes?”

“That might be fine for some,” Steve said, his hands slipping lower to knead and tease, “but I figured a dame like you is worth a lot more than some tournament, and I wasn’t going to wait until we got to Harrenhal.”

Her breath hitched, and she shifted again. This time his length was trapped between her thighs, and she took advantage, rocking her hips slowly. “Perhaps I should show my appreciation, then,” she said, almost purring. “Do you know the game ‘come into my castle’?”

“I thought we’d already done that,” he said, faux confusion unable to completely cover his cheek.

Naerys raised an imperious brow at him, even as she pinched his nipple.

“Ouch, hey, be gent-”

She tweaked the other one.

Steve retaliated, water splashed, and that was the last of any serious conversation for a while.

X

Steve whistled as he waited, a cheerful thing that he’d heard in a song once. It was a beautiful morning to be riding out into the world. The drizzle was refreshing, the way the sun peeked through grey clouds overhead made him want to sketch, even the fading fog over the river was a sight to see. He watched as his soldiers rode out in their squads, the last of the rebel forces to depart the castle.

Robert and Ned and the other lords had been the first out, but they waited with their escort a short way away. They would be riding back to the army, but not with Steve - he would be taking his troops on a wide ride, scouting in force. It was Walt’s suggestion, and Steve agreed. Scouting in friendly territory took different skills than what they had done in the Reach, and if there was one thing he was enthusiastic about, it was bettering his people.

The Goodbrooks stood on the walls of their castle, and they raised their arms in farewell as the last of the rebels passed under them. They had sworn oaths to remove themselves from the war, and meant to send word to their men to remove themselves from the royalist forces as best they could without conflict. The lords ahorse raised their arms in response, and the gates began to close, drawbridge rising.

Steve turned Brooklyn’s nose north, giving a farewell to the other party, and his men followed suit. The rebel lords returned the gesture - but then something seemed to catch their eye. More than one was looking back to the castle and gesturing, and Steve did the same, but he didn’t see anything wrong. Maybe they were just excited about the spears still stuck in the underside of the drawbridge, but he was pretty sure they’d all heard about that at the feast.

He led, and the company followed. Keladry had the middle, and Walt the rear. As they trotted down the road, he glanced at Naerys as she rode beside him, unable to help the small smile they shared. She sat sidesaddle that day, her usual habit of riding astride met with a wince and a quick adjustment.

The sun started to overcome the clouds as the morning passed, and the drizzle eased, bringing relief to those who didn’t have some other reason to be cheerful. The war had yet to come to these lands, and they even passed the occasional smallfolk who had cause to be on the road. One such passing of a man and his son saw their entire cart of potatoes bought out, and Steve wasted no time in setting Lyanna to double checking their stock of spices and butter, overcome with a sudden hankering for baked potato.

As they rode, Steve made sure to adjust their order of march, giving each squad leader the chance to lead and checking in those he passed. Corivo spoke well of Ed’s work, the man settling in well as his assistant, and reported full health across the company, all their wounds and ailments having recovered in their break since Mastford. Their style of harrying attack had seen them take no injuries worth the name during the Wolf Hunt as men were calling it, and morale was high. Every squad leader reported much the same; good news and an anticipation for the future.

“...long as it can be made airtight,” Steve was saying. “I don’t know anything about how different animals might affect that, or anything about working with leather though.”

“Hrngh,” Erik said, rubbing at his chin. “I’d have to ask me brother. I went to the Stepstones to get away from all that. Never heard of anything like that when I was still working with the family, but.”

“I don’t think we’ll be back in the Vale until after the war,” Steve said, considering. “Might have to ask the next tanner we see.”

“You can work on the rest, at least?” Erik asked.

Steve nodded. He could, and after a few early mistakes, it had been going well. He was pretty happy with the way the mouthpiece and drones had turned out, but he was starting to come up against the limits of what he could do without an expert to advise him. “Yeah.” Someone caught his eye. “Remember what I said about Nestor, and see what he thinks.”

“Aye, Captain.”

The soldier rode off, drawing near his target. She looked over her shoulder as he neared, and nudged her mount to the side to make room for him. “Already time to switch?” Keladry asked. She was leading the column, her glaive sitting ready in its stock by Qēlos’ shoulder.

“No, not yet,” Steve said. “Just checking in with everyone.”

“All is well,” Keladry reported. “Toby mentioned that some of the horses want to run, but that is all.”

“I’m sure we’ll find a reason to give them a gallop,” Steve said. Their herd was well and truly large enough for their purposes at that stage, approaching five hundred horses between spares and baggage carriers. In truth it was too many for their numbers, especially with the heavy imbalance between servants and soldiers, but they had a Toby, and they managed. He gave Kel a look, making it clear that he had not come for a casual conversation. “Have you given any thought to our last talk?”

The faintest grimace touched on her face, there and gone. “I have,” she said.

“And?” Steve pressed.

“No.”

It was not irritation or exasperation that had Steve sigh at her answer, but it was moving in that direction. He gave Brooklyn a nudge, gaining some distance between them and those riding behind them. “You’ve more than earned a knighthood. Even putting aside the battles at Blueburn and Mastford, you’ve got the skills and the ideals required. Most knights get the nod with only a fraction of what you have.”

“I can’t accept such a thing while I’m hiding who I am,” Keladry insisted. “And that is a reflection on them and the man who knights them, not me.”

“You’re still worthy,” Steve said. “What’s your real reason?” There was a long moment where the only sound was the clop of hooves on dirt and distant conversation behind them.

At length, she sighed. “I have met knights who were false, and knights who were true,” Keladry said, “but even the true knights often earned their knighthood for slaying clansmen or serving for long enough. I want…more. Not just a feat of combat.”

Steve observed her from the corner of his eye. So often, Kel was the controlled one, the reserved one. She made it easy to forget that she had dared to fake her death and flee a betrothal after fighting off evil men, taking up the life of a hedge knight when women in her station hardly had a choice in who they would marry, let alone what skills they could learn.

“What kind of ‘more’?” he asked.

“An example,” she said immediately. “An aspiration.” There was no pause, no hesitation. “I want squires to hear of what I did and dream of being knighted for something just like it.” She swallowed and took a breath, glancing over to look him in the eye. “I don’t want people to hear my title and think me a killer. I want them to hear it and think me a protector.”

Steve held her gaze for a long moment. Then, he smiled. “We’re agreed, then. Next time you do something like that, you have to let me knight you.”

Whatever Kel had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “What?”

“You’ve already got a few of those deeds under your belt,” Steve said, looking back to the road ahead. “I figure it’s just a matter of time until the next.”

She tried to argue. “I have hardly-”

“Defending Toby from false knights, faking your death to avoid shaming your family, a year spent as a hedge knight hiding your name and gender, Blueburn and Mastford,” Steve said, ticking off each comment on his fingers.

Kel was gaping at him now. Well, her lips were barely parted, but given her usual composure it counted.

“Courage, spirit, endurance, skill,” Steve said, nodding to himself. It didn’t quite map to the oath that he’d seen Dayne lead Jaime through, or that Barristan had led him through, but the more he considered it the more he found himself liking it. “Yeah. I don’t think you’re going to have trouble finding another worthy deed.” He didn’t agree with the faking her death thing, but he knew the locals held face or honour to be more important than he did, and he knew what it had cost her.

“I don’t think-”

“Not to mention all the little things that we do day by day,” he continued, barrelling over her. Setting an example wasn’t just about doing bit deeds. The small stuff was important, too. “Mentoring, training, teaching. It’s all part of being a leader. A knight, rather.”

Keladry was quiet for a moment, considering his words. Then she nodded once, firm. “I will live up to your expectations.”

“You already do,” Steve said. “I’m not offering to knight you just because of the battles.”

The look she gave him reminded him so much of Bucky after he’d rescued him from being beaten up in an alley that he almost did a double take. “As you say, Captain.”

Long experience had Steve guiding the conversation to less serious matters. They spoke of this and that, of Osric’s progress with the personal lessons Kel was giving him, and of how she might soon suggest he obtain a glaive for himself. They spoke of Toby’s progress in his lessons, and of how she had to stop him from having Khal bite a groomsman who was slack with his brushing duties. They spoke of the feast at Goodbrook Castle, and of how Ser Ryswell suspected her horse Redbloom to come from his family’s herds. They spoke of inconsequential things, but their conversation came to an end as they both noticed smoke rising to the north.

“Keladry-”

“Aye ser,” she said, already wheeling her horse about.

Steve watched with a grim eye as the smoke began to darken. It was no wildfire, static as it was, and he had a feeling that when they reached it they would find a village. He pulled his shield from its place on Brooklyn’s shoulder, and stretched out his shoulders. Whatever it was was out of sight, hidden behind nearby hills, but they were not that far.

Word spread quickly through the column. Orders were shouted and confirmed, their order changing to make safe their noncombatants, and Steve spared himself a moment to make sure Naerys was safely with them. She met his eyes from back down the road for a brief instant, pressing two fingers to her lips before reaching out to him. He clasped his hand to his heart in turn, but then his attention was needed elsewhere.

Keladry returned ahorse Redbloom, and Fury was trotting freely beside her. Steve freed his feet from his stirrups and used his arms to hop himself from horse to horse, settling into his saddle.

“Off you go, girl,” Steve said to Brooklyn, and she turned to head back to the rest of the spare mounts. Toby’s influence was worth a king’s ransom. “All is ready?” he asked of Keladry.

She nodded. “Another raid group?” Keladry asked, staring at the smoke.

“Not unless Ser Whent lied about his forces,” Steve said. He put it from his mind; the hows didn’t matter then, only what they would do in response. “Not that it matters. We’re riding them down.” He nudged Fury, setting him to a canter, and his soldiers followed. If they were lucky, the smoke would be the result of a spilled candle, but he knew they wouldn’t be.

It did not take them long to reach their target, a village revealed to them as they came around a hill. A large building was burning, a granary, and armed men were moving around the village, though only a few. Most were gathered in a field on one side, being addressed by the man who must be their leader, clad in steel. Of the sixty odd men, less than a dozen were mounted. A faint scream rose up from within the village, and Steve’s eyes grew dark.

"Keladry, take the company and make safe the village,” Steve said. “I'll deal with the raiders."

“Aye ser,” she said without doubt, no hesitance to his intent to attack sixty men alone. She readied her glaive, raising it high. “Company! On me, to the village!” Her glaive came down to point at the village, her voice was parade ground pitched, and Ren was soon at her side, white star banner unfurling as she arrived.

In a less serious situation, he would have spared a moment to rib Ren over the displeased twist to her mouth at not riding at his side, but it was not the time. Another scream rose from the village as he pulled his hammer free from its harness and leaned forward. Fury sensed his mood and tossed his head, giving a screaming whinny, and then he was charging.

The raiders saw their foes coming, their attention drawn by shouted orders and rumbling hooves. They were impossible to miss, over a hundred warriors streaming out from behind a hill, all clad in matching brigandine, spears raised high as they charged. What stumped them, however, was the way they were ignored, riding instead for the village they had just finished raiding. It took a moment for them to notice the lone knight, atop a pale horse and charging right at them. For a moment, they could not understand, and they hesitated. It did not change anything about what was to befall them.

Steve had his eyes fixed on the leader, but he had his mounted men on either side of him as he addressed his raiders, leaving half of them in his way. His hammer swept back. They would not slow him.

The closest riders had turned to face him, seeming to respect him as an individual foe no matter their private thoughts as to his sanity. Two were swept from their saddles in an instant, bones broken and minds addled as they flew. Another was kicked in the ribs as Steve took his hammer in his left hand, sending him wheezing from his horse, and the last was clotheslined from his saddle as he gaped at his fallen comrades. He was upon the leader then, and Steve seized him by the neck, hardly slowly, pulling from his horse as he galloped past the rest and away.

Confused and outraged shouts echoed in his wake as Fury’s stride ate up the field. Steve hardly spared a glance for the man he was hauling along, his legs kicking and dragging as they went. He beat feebly at the arm holding him, but he could hardly budge it, let alone free himself.

A glance over his shoulder showed the remaining seven riders pursuing him, and a twitch of Fury’s reins had him slow to let them catch up. When Steve judged they were close enough, he hurled his captive forward, giving him a brief few moments of flight before he landed with a clatter and a scream, tumbling over himself and kicking up clods of earth.

Steve broke the men pursuing him, taking them apart as they reached him. His hammer shattered shields, his shield broke limbs, and all would face a long road to recovery ahead of them. He did not kill them, not before he knew what had happened in the attack on the village, but it would be their deeds that determined if they would have the chance to take that road.

The riders defeated, the soldier rode back towards the infantry. They stared as he approached, stock still and unsure. When he reached them, he looked them over for a long moment, taking in faces, looking for signs of bruises, or scratches. He did not find any, but the anger in his gut did not subside.

“You will surrender.”

There was no threat. He did not need one. The men surrendered.

The village had been secured, and he saw Humfrey’s squad ride back out, set to overwatch on a nearby hill. The squad leader’s axe was red with blood. Henry and his squad were set to gather the horses of those fallen afoul of Steve, supervising the surrendered men who had been set to gather those who had done the falling.

Angry voices and the sound of something being dragged through dirt drew Steve’s attention away from the captives as they sat in ranks. From a village path, his own squad approached, and Artys was dragging someone, dead or unconscious. His face was drawn in a scowl, the scar over his eye lending it menace. Arland led them, and he stopped before Steve.

“Who is that?” Steve asked, eyeing the man from his saddle. Half his face was so much bloody meat, as if someone had taken a mace to it.

“Rapist,” Arland said, voice flat.

“You’re sure?”

“Caught in the act.”

Steve turned his eye on the men he had broken - knights or men-at-arms he wasn’t sure - and their lord in particular. None were in good shape, but they felt his gaze on them all the same.

“Robin,” he said, voice calm. His squire was with his squad, wearing the same anger as the rest of them. “I’d like you to go to the others, let them know the fight is over. Tell Betty her help is needed.”

“Aye ser,” Robin said, already turning to jog away.

“And Robin?”

The squire paused, turning back.

“Fetch a rope.”

X

Steve turned his back on the swinging corpse, face set in a deep frown as he watched Betty and another woman guide a pale teenage girl away. Smoke still hung in the air despite his men preventing the fire from spreading far, structures still smouldering after the worst of the fire had burnt itself out. The village residents, those that weren’t helping some of his men in their efforts to salvage something from the granary, had gathered just outside their home to see justice done, but from their faces, it was a poor salve to their wounds. There had been several deaths during the attack, and no way to tell who was responsible amidst the chaos.

Hanging rapists might be better than letting them go free or mutilating them, but he wasn’t about to start implementing collective punishment.

“Who’s in charge of this place?” Steve called, looking over the crowd.

“We’re sworn to Lord Goodbrook, if it pleases m’lord,” a man called, still shivering as he held his wife and daughter close.

Steve nodded slowly as he absorbed that, glancing over at the lord who had led the attack. He wasn’t young or old, and he had one arm in a sling, acne scarred face pinched with pain. “Do you have a village headman?”

“Not anymore, m’lord,” the same man answered, and that seemed to be the limit of his ability or willingness to speak.

“Alright,” Steve said. “You. What’s your name?”

The man responsible for it all bared his teeth in a grimace as he tried to straighten his back. “I am Lord Deddings, of-”

“Lord Deddings, you owe these people blood money,” Steve said. “You will pay to replace their granary. You will pay the cost of what you burnt. You will pay to fill it. You will pay them for their pain and suffering. You will pay the income of lost family members, and you will pay whatever is needed for that girl to live a good life. Do you understand?”

“You have no right to order that of me!” Deddings said, outrage worn plainly, as if he was the one being wronged.

“You had no right to attack these people!” Steve barked. “What did this achieve? Did you kill enemy soldiers? Did you reduce their ability to wage war? All the Goodbrook men are already with the royal host! Did you do anything but kill innocent people for no cause?!” He was shouting by the end of it, almost surprised by his own anger. He clenched a fist, and something popped.

Deddings quailed for a moment, but he rallied. “You speak as if you have never raided a village on the march, never razed a town!” the lord threw back at him.

Angry murmurs rose from Steve’s men at that, more than one weapon held in tight grips.

“No villages attacked, no civilian deaths, not one woman raped by my men, and I raided the Reach from the Stormlands border to Grassfield Keep!” Steve cut his head to the side, breathing out harshly through his nose. With an effort, he strangled his anger.

Deddings blinked, confused. “But, what-”

“You’ll face justice from your overlord,” Steve decided. He wouldn’t likely be able to make the blood money stick without great effort, anyway. “Walt. Bind him, put him with the others.”

The lord’s protests and demands were ignored by the old soldier, and his grin soon saw them subside, disappointing the man. The villagers filtered away to pick up pieces of their lives as the lord was hauled off, and Steve turned his attention to more important things.

“No deaths, one injury,” Keladry reported as she approached, visor raised. “Corivo says it’s just a strain, not a tear.”

“Good,” Steve said, voice clipped. He grimaced at himself, anger not quite as gone as he had hoped. “Is there any good news?”

“We found a cellar full of children,” she said. “Their parents hid them before leading the raiders away.”

“Good,” Steve said, his anger finally easing. “Good.” A thought occurred to him. “The parents-”

“They survived,” Keladry said. “They sent older siblings to watch over the children while they help with the damage.” She drummed her fingers along her glaive, disquieted. “Steve, if this village is sworn to Lord Goodbrook-”

“I know,” Steve said. “We’ll deal with that when we get back to the army.” Even had he known beforehand, he wouldn’t have done anything different. “Take me to the children.”

Keladry did as asked, understanding his reasoning for doing so. She guided him to a house, far away from where the fire had been, and was first through the door. Inside were more than a dozen children, watched over by three young teens, but there was an adult present as well. Naerys was there, one of the smallest children seated in her lap.

Steve had a moment to meet Naerys’ eyes and share a smile before the children reacted to their entry.

“It’s Ser Keladry!” one of the children exclaimed.

Steve gave Kel a look, already feeling his spirits lifted.

Kel gave the child a small smile, and did not correct him. “This is my captain, Lord America. He is the one who saved your village.”

A chorus of impressed sounds rose up in answer.

“We all helped, but especially Keladry,” Steve said. “I just wanted to meet the kids who I heard were so brave today.” Before he’d had to go on the run, he had spent more than a handful of days in various paediatric wards.

“Lady Naerey said we was brave as knights,” another little boy said, his chest puffing up.

“If Lady Naerey says so, I’m sure it’s true,” Steve said. He felt the last of his ill mood leaving him.

“Does that mean we get a story?” the boy pressed. “When I’m good, I get a story.”

“I -” he hesitated, but only for a moment as all the children seemed to switch on as one in response to the ‘s’ word, “- would love to tell you a story.” He looked around; the house wasn’t small, but there was little room left to sit on the ground, so he chose to lean against a table, looking over the gathering. He cleared his throat, casting his mind about. “Let’s see…”

The words came to him, and he leaned forward. The children - and Naerys - mirrored him.

“In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit…”