A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

“Deddings joined Hoster in rebellion,” Brandon said. His arms were crossed, and he leaned back in his chair as he spoke, frowning. “He will argue that he was attacked while in service to my good-father.”

The tent wasn’t small, but it felt that way, packed as it was. When Steve had rejoined the army a day late with prisoners in tow and carrying word of what he had done, he had spurred a quiet rush. Every lord of actual influence was present, no matter their kingdom. Brandon headed them, but Ned and Robert sat at his sides. Samuel, Brynden, Beron, Umber, Bolton, Royce, Dustin, and a small handful of others who might call themselves their equal watched in sombre regard as well. There were no servants present.

Steve had expected something of a tribunal, to be standing before a table of lords, but instead they were all seated together. It felt more like a PR briefing.

“The village he raided had turned back to my brother,” Brynden said, though it was reluctant. “That would undercut his claim to injury.”

“...but only the very day before the raid, and with their men still serving the foe,” Samuel said, finishing the thought.

“Even if he hadn’t,” Steve said, “it wouldn’t have changed my actions.”

Several winces answered his words.

“I would perhaps keep that to myself, were I in your boots,” Kyle said. “Not that what you did was a poor thing,” he hurried to add, “just that not all share your…vehemence in adhering to knightly conduct.”

“It’s not about knightly conduct,” Steve said, starting to get a little hot under the collar.

“I think we all know Lord America’s quality,” Beron said quickly. He was perhaps not as highly born as some others in the tent, but his friendships and relation to the Starks had seen him invited, not to mention his experience with Steve. The stormlord looked around the table, gauging faces. “I would not say that any here find fault in the deed itself.”

Greatjon snorted, but said nothing as he shook his head, clearly bored.

“Who is this Deddings, anyway?” Robert asked, looking between Brandon and Bryden. His knee was bouncing under the table.

“They’re a lordly House. Wealthy,” Brynden said. “They see most of the western traffic that doesn’t follow the River Road.”

“Their men are with Hoster,” Brandon said. “Not sure why Deddings isn’t.”

Brynden closed his eyes, thinking. “I remember something of a worry for his borders with Goodbrook. Hoster gave him leave to remain to watch his lands.”

“Looks to have been watching his neighbours, more like,” Dustin said, clearly thinking little of the man.

Brandon unfolded his arms, leaning forward to set his hands on the table. “Brynden. Does House Tully find issue with Lord America’s actions?”

“You’ll want to ask Lord Tully about that,” Brynden said, “but if I know my brother, he won’t judge Deddings’ contributions as greater than America’s.”

“He should judge by the facts, not my contributions.”

Brynden didn’t frown, though his lips did thin. “A Lord Paramount has more considerations to juggle than a company commander.”

Steve bit his tongue. Telling these lords the true depth of lives and responsibilities he had ever held in his hands would gain him nothing.

“Does it matter?” Bolton asked. His pale gaze was fixed on Steve, considering. “Your conduct has given Lord Tully no insult, and no harm was done.”

Piercing blue met ghost grey unflinchingly. “Seven people were killed,” he said. “A girl was raped.”

“The raper was hanged, and none of the dead were Deddings’ sworn swords,” Robert said, making a dismissive gesture. “If he were my lord, this would already be over.”

Again, Steve was reminded of the disconnect between the morals of this land and his own. There had been a lot of talk about if he had done wrong, but not a mention of punishment for Deddings. A broken collarbone was not nearly enough punishment for his negligence.

“It would be improper to decide for Lord Tully,” Ned said, speaking for the first time, “but Lord Tully is not here. Whether the matter is settled now or when we reach Darry will not change the outcome.”

“What about reparations?” Steve asked. If the set of his jaw was growing mulish, none pointed it out. “That village lost their granary, some houses, and a number of able hands. My understanding of your culture is that the rape victim will have trouble finding a marriage. Will Deddings have to do right by them?”

Brandon and Ned shared a look, but it was Brynden that answered. “Given your service, Hoster will take any counsel you have on the matter seriously. So long as no Goodbrook men have joined in the raids, I expect he’ll be compensated.”

A muscle in Steve’s jaw ticked. “Goodbrook will be-”

“Deddings will pay Goodbrook, and Goodbrook will make his people whole,” Beron said, familiarity allowing him to interrupt. “When Lord Tully gives the order, the smallfolk will be made whole.”

“Only lords of lowly character would keep the coin for themselves,” Samuel added, “and for all his poor choice of sides, Lord Goodbrook seemed to be a man of good character.”

Again, Steve bit his tongue, exhaling sharply.

“Smallfolk given coin lose it swiftly,” Kyle said, after his fellows had said their piece without having their heads bitten off. “To greedy merchants or to banditry or to some other misfortune. It is our duty to use our standing to make arrangements for them.”

Steve looked around the tent, and found nothing but agreement. He was clearly alone in his argument, and even those sympathetic to him were only trying to help him understand rather than arguing alongside him. There was no victory to be found in the tent that day. “Then I guess we’ll pick this up again after we link up with Lord Tully.”

Something eased in the tent, at least amongst those who knew Steve the best, and the meeting did not last much longer. The lords were content to let the matter lie, satisfied that it was as good as over. It was a truth passed from father to son in lessons since the Age of Heroes that black deeds happened in the fog of war. The worst of it had been punished, but even a hunter knew that to control a hound through beatings would only ensure that one day it would turn on its master, and a soldier was no mere hound and they were no mere hunters. The high lords would remind their leal men of their expectations, but already their attentions were returning to more important matters.

The high lords, however, were not the end of it. Word spread of the events at Goodbrook’s village, and though the framing changed with those who told it, the events were the same, and in those events some saw opportunity. All those who had held their tongues in the face of enthusiastic acclaim for Lord America suddenly felt able to speak, and speak they did. Concerned words were spoken, and if they were hiding spite and envy, only the speaker could say. Common were the quick and quiet discussions of how Lord America had ambushed a rebel force that was attacking loyalists, of what it could possibly mean. Many were unsure, but there was no denial, no explanation from their overlords that excused the accusation, and even those that did not believe still repeated the words.

The common man had little patience for such things, but it was not the common man who held power, and the word continued to spread. Lords who had reason to resent Lord America were emboldened to speak, for was it not true that he had ambushed their fellow rebels? Was it not true that he had savagely beaten Lord Deddings without warning? Was it not true that he had defended the village of a royalist lord? The foreign ‘lord’ had sworn no oaths and inserted himself into matters that he had no business with, and beneath the notice of those who spoke of armies and campaigns and kings, the whispers grew.

Before long, they grew into something more.

X

Steve frowned as he watched Corivo work. He felt like he had been frowning a lot, lately. “How bad is it?”

“Not broken,” Corivo said as he examined his patient carefully, tilting his head this way and that. “Though it will be sensitive for a time.”

“Ib bine,” Robin said. He took a sniff, and winced.

“Hold this to it,” Corivo said, handing him a clean cloth, pulled from a box of such things in his working area. “Try to breathe through your mouth.”

Robin pressed the cloth carefully to his nose. In addition to the bloodied nose, he had a split lip, bruised knuckles, and a small gash across his elbow courtesy of someone’s tooth.

“So,” Steve said, taking a nearby chair and reversing it, before taking a seat. Something about the move made his squire go pale, eyes distant. “You want to tell me what happened?”

The kid snapped back to the present, and lowered the cloth to talk. “Ib was de squies, dey-” he paused, taking shallow breaths as his face screwed up, one eye closing as the other brow raised. “Oh no.” He sneezed, thankfully catching the spray of blood with his cloth.

“I saw it happen, Captain,” the last occupant of Corivo’s tent said.

Steve turned to Will, one of the first men he had recruited, before even venturing into the Mountains of the Moon. His scarlet beard couldn’t entirely hide a swelling jaw, and his knuckles were missing bark just as Robin’s were.

“Seems like you did more than see it, Will,” Steve said, his tone light.

Will ducked his head. He had been a lithe man when he was recruited, and he still was, but the results of Steve’s training were clear. “Five on one ain’t fair.”

“Five on one?” Steve said, looking back to his squire. “Why’d you go and pick a fight like that?”

“Dey bicked it,” Robin said hotly, though the effect was somehow spoiled by the impediment of his swollen nose.

“They did, Captain,” Will said. “They knew he was there an’ all, made sure he heard them.”

“What did they say?” Steve asked.

Will scowled. “Talkin’ about that Lord Deddings, and that you did wrong by him. Called you a liar.”

“That all?” Steve asked, giving him a look.

Robin and Will shared a glance. “There were a bit more,” Will admitted. “Mostly bout how you were lying, and that what you did in the Reach was like as not made up.”

“And Robin felt the need to fight five other squires over this?” Steve asked.

The two shared another glance, this time more reluctant. “Bell…no,” Robin said. “I bight’ve…” He dabbed at his nose as if to absorb blood, but the shifting of his eyes told the truth of his play for time.

“Robin called them out, said if they wanted to repeat the lies of their knight masters they should just go lick a horse’s ass, seeing as it would be the same result,” Will said. He was unable to quite hide his glee.

Steve put a hand over his mouth and frowned, attempting to appear grave. “I see,” he said. “And how did the fight go?”

“Dey ran,” Robin said, proud even through the pain.

“We got them pretty bad, but they were still good for it until Ortys showed up,” Will admitted.

“Well,” Steve said, tapping his hand on the chairback before himself. “I’d be a hypocrite if I told you off for standing up for yourself.” He looked to Will. “And you, Will - good job.”

Both of them couldn’t help but grin. “Thanks, Captain.”

“Now get outta here, and stop taking up Corivo’s time,” he ordered.

The two of them were quick to be on their way, brimming with the good cheer that came from getting the better of some cad, and Steve saw Will muss Robin’s hair before the tent flap fell back into place.

Corivo began to tidy up his work area. “Fights happen, but those squires did not do that alone,” he said, not looking at Steve.

Steve pursed his lips. “No, they didn’t.”

“I’ve seen resentment within companies turn ugly before,” the Myrman said.

A considering nod was his answer, and the doctor left it at that, content that his warning had been heard.

Resentment towards him was nothing new, even amongst the Stormland army that had had front row seats to his actions. His contributions to the war would only go so far, and he knew that being on good terms with Robert only meant he was on good terms with Robert, not that all those sworn to him would feel the same. He wasn’t blind to the fact that he rubbed some of the local lords the wrong way. Fingers drummed a beat on his chair. The rumours about Keladry had started to die out, but if new rumours were rising in their place, he didn’t want to be caught on the back foot.

He had a gut feeling someone had chosen a way to come at him that couldn’t be taken care of with a quick duel, but that was fine. He was no meathead, and he knew what to do when someone came at him sideways.

X

It only took a few days for Lyanna to report back with the news she’d gathered, her penchant for making friends and ferreting out gossip proving its worth once again. As the army continued to arrive at their chosen camp that afternoon to make camp, the Riverlands girl spoke to a council of war.

“Cafferen is part of it,” Lyanna told the tent, “and he hasn’t been shy about talking with his knights where he can be overheard. He really doesn’t like you telling him what he can’t do, Steve.”

“That sounds like a problem for him,” Steve said. He and his most trusted were gathered in his tent, their duties seen to for the moment. “What’s he been saying?”

“Mostly about how you’re taking advantage of Lord Baratheon’s good nature, and that even though you’ve done a lot, none of that was anything another couldn’t,” Lyanna said.

“That doesn’t sound like the talk that had the squires starting trouble,” Naerys said, frowning slightly. She had been reading a book as she waited for their discussion to start, but now it was closed on the table, her hands clasped atop it.

Beside her, Robin couldn’t help but touch at his nose; it was still ginger.

“That’s cause it isn’t,” Lyanna said, not quite bouncing in her seat. “I was helping one of the servants with Cafferen’s linen, and guess who I saw going in to meet with him.”

Keladry shifted in her chair. “Was it-” she cut herself off, eyes shifting to Walt and back.

Lyanna nodded. “It was Lord Burchard,” she said, but then a moment later she followed Keladry’s look. “He were, uh…”

“He knew you back when you wore dresses then?” Walt asked, blunt as a hammer.

Kel went still. Toby was less reserved.

“I’ll bite your nose off old man,” the boy threatened, the effect lessened by how his shoulders barely came up over the table. “Keladry don’t wear dresses.”

Steve reached over to muss the kid’s hair. “Walt guessed,” he said to Kel, apologetic. “I meant to tell you after Goodbrook, but the raid interrupted things.”

“I see,” Keladry said, face like stone.

“I figured it out in Pentos,” Walt said. His words had Steve and Kel both blinking. “Then when the rumours started up, I put the rest together.” The old soldier glanced about the tent. “I wouldn’t ‘a told me either, but you saved me grandson’s life, little shit that he is. Doing it as a maiden only makes it more impressive.”

“I see,” Keladry said again. “...I thank you,” she said, heartfelt.

Walt grunted, crossing his arms and trying to pretend he wasn’t affected by it.

“About Burchard, Lyanna?” Steve asked.

Lyanna started at her name. “Right. I didn’t try to get on the wine service, but Burchard weren’t in there long, and he didn’t leave happy.”

“Cafferen didn’t give him the answer he wanted,” Naerys said, thinking it through. “Have you annoyed anyone else lately?” she asked Steve.

Steve had to think about it for a moment. “There’s Deddings, but he’s not really in a position to be spreading rumours.” The noble had been given due courtesy as they marched north, but he was a Riverlander in an army of Stormlanders with the occasional Northman, and few were falling over themselves to socialise with him in any case.

“Then the simplest answer is that Burchard is behind these new rumours,” Naerys said, nodding decisively. “Few listened last time, but he means to try again differently.”

“Again, I cause trouble for you,” Keladry said.

“Burchard is the punk causing trouble, not you,” Steve said. “We dealt with this at Harrenhal, and we’ll deal with it here too.”

Kel’s mouth twitched faintly, as if to smile.

“He lacks any of the connections you have with the high lords,” Naerys said. “And he knows he cannot simply accuse you without it ending as it did at Harrenhal.”

“Can I just go up and slap him?” Steve asked.

“Not on hearsay,” Naerys said. “You’d have to hear it from him, before witnesses.”

“What if ‘is horse kicked him in the head?” Toby asked. He had been sulking since his threat to Walt had been ignored.

“No, Toby,” Keladry said.

Walt leaned in. “What if I-”

“No, Walt,” the adults said.

Robin snorted, but tried to hide from the narrowed gaze of his drill sergeant that followed.

There was a moment as all considered the challenge before them.

“What I’m seeing is that we need to catch him out, before witnesses,” Steve said, less than happy with the idea.

“Unless he proves himself a fool, and does something that gives the high lords an excuse to act,” Naerys said. “Even if you went to Lord Baratheon, he would be counselled to intervene with care, if at all.”

Steve grumbled in his throat. Robert owed him, he knew, but he’d been giving enough PR briefings to know that bringing the hammer of authority to a whisper fight rarely ended well. He didn’t like the idea of handing it off to someone else to solve, anyway.

“Can he even do anything to us?” Robin asked, hesitant. He shifted under everyone’s sudden attention, but didn’t stop. “He’s just a small lord, right? And you’re friends with Baratheons, Starks, you won battles for them…it just seems like he can’t do much more than spread gossip.”

For most in the tent, there was a moment as they considered his words, and were jarred by them. A year past, even the lowest of nobility could have caused any one of them great problems.

Steve was shaking his head. "Underestimating someone is giving them a chance to surprise you in a bad way,” he said. “Burchard isn’t spreading rumours for fun, and it’s already seen you in a fight. I’d rather stay on top of this than let something worse happen. We won’t ignore him.”

Robin nodded slowly, taking his point.

“Lyanna,” Steve said. “In my experience, men like Burchard don’t treat their servants well. Do you think you could make friends with them, without getting yourself into trouble?”

The girl scoffed. “Course.”

“Then do that. If things change, we’ll respond, but for now I just want everyone to keep an eye out,” Steve said. He didn’t bother telling them not to go anywhere alone; those most at risk already avoided doing that as a matter of course. “On more important matters - Naerys tells me you plotted out the needs of the army all the way to Darry?”

Lyanna brightened. “I did! It’s the same as doing it for the company, just bigger, and with more points of failure.”

“How about you show me while the boys have their numbers lesson?” Steve asked. He pinned Toby in place with a stare, stopping his attempt to slide out of his chair and out of sight.

Weightier matters were left behind, and another day on the march came to an end. Whatever mischief Kel’s betrothed had in mind for them, they would be ready.

X

The rumours continued as the host marched north, starting to round the top of the Gods Eye. Those who spread them might have been a minority, but they were a loud minority, and spite lent wind to their words. As more became aware of them, they began to change, no longer simply concerned with Lord America’s reputation, but with that of those around him. None would admit to starting them, but many listened all the same, and they wondered. There was no smoke without fire, after all.

“I heard America trains his servants to fight.”

“Didn’t he recruit smallfolk into that company of his? All the same, innit?”

“No, I mean his servants, the quims.”

Suddenly, there were those who found reason to be passing by as Steve led his company through their exercises of an afternoon, tutting disapprovingly when he guided Betty and her girls through their own. More than one comment was made on the appropriateness of training women to fight. He fought down the urge to challenge them on Naerys’ behalf, but it burned at him all the same, that those small men would dare to look down on the efforts of those who just wanted to better themselves.

“Think of it this way, ladies,” Steve commented loudly as he led Betty and her girls through an aikido move he had them learning. “If a man is threatened because you can defend yourself, well, that says a lot about him and the size of his ‘courage’, doesn’t it?”

The women learning tittered and laughed, and they were joined by more than one person nearby, the camp cramped as it was. The most recent man to ‘happen by’ and comment flushed with anger, giving the women an ugly look, and stalked off with anger on his face. Steve watched with a flat gaze as the man departed. The laughter might have burned at him, but that look spoke of things much worse than simple laughter.

He would send Walt to have a talk with the man.

“He clearly has no shame, training washerwomen and whores as if they were men-at-arms.”

“Maybe them other rumours were on the money.”

“About his sworn sword? Weren’t they settled already, at Harrenhal?”

“Well, I heard that he bribed the Whents to side with him, and with the very winnings they owed him! My cousin saw him carrying stacked chests through the camp, but no man could carry them if they were full of gold…”

“Huh. Mebbe you’re right…what was her name, again?”

The rumours about Kel came surging back, and this time they were not so quickly dismissed. Suddenly, the events at Harrenhal were not enough, and the dismissal of Kyllan Stoneford’s accusation was spoken of as some bit of scheming by the royalist Whents. Word inevitably began to creep up the feudal ladder, more and more lords growing aware of the gossip centred on Lord America and his retinue. The few Vale lords present found themselves sought after drinking companions, as even those who had no feud with the foreign lord grew interested in the truth of the matter.

Rumour and hearsay continued to spread like an odious gas, seeping into more and more conversations as the march north continued. Boredom was a killer, and there would always be those who found joy in a tantalising bit of gossip about an otherwise admired figure.

As all such things went, however, eventually someone crossed a line.

X

Steve was returning from a run when he heard it.

“-his bastard woman was probably lying about Swiftback, or sleeping around on the side-”

Steve stopped and turned on a dime, striding towards the one who had spoken. Mouths snapped shut as he passed and approached, no matter what they had been discussing, all struck by the same instinct that told them to be silent. He came to a stop before the man who had called Naerys a liar and worse, staring him down, unblinking.

The man swallowed, his two friends edging away from him.

“Did you have something you wanted to say to me?”

Another swallow, and a stiff shake of his head was the answer.

“You’re sure?” Steve pressed. “You wouldn’t be lying, would you?”

Another tiny shake of his head, panic in his eyes as he failed to understand how he had been overheard. The words had clearly been meant for those nearby him, a show of derision as Steve passed by out of earshot.

Steve stared him down, knowing him for a liar. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, but he stood stock still. The man was a nobody, some hedge knight repeating what he had been told or overheard. Even if he pointed the finger at Burchard, he needed more. At length, he spoke.

“You may go now.”

The three men were fleeing almost before he had finished speaking, and he watched them go. Slandering him with deeds he’d gladly own up to was one thing. Slandering those with him like that was something else entirely.

There was a lull after that day, as many seemed to remember how Lord America had reacted the last time his lady had been in danger. Unwise as many might have thought it to be to bring a paramour on the march, none could deny that striking at her had proven to be folly. It was almost like the whispers were holding their breath in fear.

The lull did not last.

Before, the rumours and whispers had seemed to keep to the middle classes of the army, finding frozen ground with the common folk and seeking to go unnoticed by the high, but that soon changed. Now it seemed that the rumours were being spread as high and wide as possible, as if those responsible wanted them to be noticed. They ballooned in scope, no longer limiting themselves to Steve’s dedication to the cause or Keladry’s true gender or even Naerys’ reputation. The included truth, lies, and the absurd - but they were told and retold, believed and mocked, taking on a life of their own as the army as a whole became aware of them.

The day after they left the shore of the Gods Eye behind, Steve received three pieces of information. The first was that Cafferen had told his people to distance themselves from the gossip the day he heard about Steve’s reaction. The second was that Samuel Errol wished to speak with him over dinner the next day. The third, though, was the one that put a smile on his face. He thanked Lyanna, and informed the others. Their patience was about to be rewarded.

The following morning, Lord America was seen departing the camp in full armour, a squad of his men following. In his absence, command fell to his sworn sword, Keladry Delnaimn, and he? she? set about making what arrangements were needed for the breaking of camp.

As Keladry was dealing with all the usual complications that came with such a task, drawn away from Lord America’s camp, a group of knights happened to pass by. They walked without haste, as if they expected the bustle of the camp to part before them, and it did. They were led by a handsome blond, and his eyes lingered on his target as they walked.

“It is a shame, I think,” Joren said. “Lord America seemed such a knight, though I suppose we should be grateful that his character was revealed.”

“How do you mean, my lord?” one of his fellows asked.

Joren noted the stiffening of his target’s spine, and he smiled. It would have set a maiden’s heart to flutter, were it not for the sharp cruelty of it. “If he was lying about something so simple as the gender of his sworn sword, then what else was he lying about?”

“You mean to say that Ser Kemmet Swiftback was wrongly accused?” Around them, traffic began to slow as more and more started to listen, many not quite believing their ears.

“I could not say, not for sure,” Joren said, falsely conscientious, “but if he conspired with the Whents to smear Lord Stoneford’s name, then it is hardly beyond him.” He paused, eyes glittering as he delivered a final shot. “We cannot know for sure what really happened that day at Mastford, of course. We have only the word of a bastard and camp whores for it.”

“You repeat yourself, my lord,” another knight said, as if in jest.

Joren laughed. “Who knows, perhaps the bastard sought to seduce another knight that day.”

Laughter came from the group. Joren gave one last look at Keladry’s utterly blank face, and knew that his barbs had hit home.

Then, a figure rose up from behind the crates she had been inspecting, expression like thunder, and all amusement died.

Steve stalked towards the group of knights who had thought themselves so clever, so cunning in their cruelty. There was a promise of violence in his shoulders as he approached, and all movement around them stopped. His pace was slow, measured, and something about it had many reevaluating their dismissal of certain tales they had been told.

Sudden steps broke the moment, and then another figure was striding forward, almost shouldering past the man whose danger had frozen the watchers. A strong arm wound back, and the crack of a ferocious slap shattered the silence.

“Joren Burchard!” Keladry boomed. “I challenge you!”

Joren had staggered with the force of the slap, completely unable to prepare for it even as he saw it coming, pinned as he was by Steve’s gaze, but now he recovered. “Your challenge is a farce,” he sneered, for all the effect was lessened by his rapidly reddening cheek, “but I accept. As challenged, I demand it take place immediately, before witnesses.” His hand went to the sword at his hip, and he looked around, as if judging the suitability of the small storage area around them.

“I’ll speak with Robert, and the Starks,” Steve said. He took a step back, his menace easing. He was smiling. “You’ll have your witnesses, and your duel.”

For a split second, Joren faltered, feeling the noose draw tight around him, but for his arrogance he could not see it. “See to it, then,” he said, dismissive. He turned to leave, his lackeys falling in with him, and they swanned away.

More than one spectator suddenly had urgent business calling them away, hurrying off to no doubt take word of what had happened to their lords or masters. Steve looked over to where Walt had been lurking inside a nearby tent, picking at his nails with his dagger, and gave him a nod. The grizzled soldier had seen everything, and knew what was to be done. He returned the nod, and ducked away to take care of it.

Keladry had stilled after delivering her challenge, but as Steve turned to leave she fell into place at his shoulder by rote of habit. As they marched back towards the company quarters, it seemed that word had spread ahead of them, as they received looks from all quarters, from message boys to lords. By design, Steve’s tent had yet to be broken down, and it provided a brief refuge from the looks and the whispers.

“Did I make a mistake?” Keladry asked him the moment they were inside.

Steve could not help but laugh. “No. No, you did not.”

“There was a plan, and I ignored it.”

“I like this one better,” Steve said.

“You always did want me to duel him,” Kel said, huffing slightly with the faintest of smiles. It faded when he did not return it, only silently observing his friend.

“It’s not about the duel.”

Kel paused, inspecting him unsurely. “How…what do you mean?”

“Ever since we met,” Steve began slowly, “you’ve been forced to hide away, any time there was some risk of anyone recognising you. You did it even when the chance was so low it was never going to happen.”

“It was a risk to you,” Kel said. She was back to her usual blankness, unsure where Steve was taking it. “You, who has done so much for me. If people knew who I was, what I was-”

“Why should you have to hide away? Why should you be forced to conceal who you are? Because of your gender? Because you dare to pick up a weapon and fight?” Steve asked. He snorted. “No.”

“It is the way of the world,” Kel said. “It is how things are, how they have always been, how they will always be.”

“Nope,” Steve said. “I don’t agree.”

“Not even you can-”

Steve cut her off again. “Why?”

“Because it just is!” Kel shouted. Her mask was cracking, and her fists were clenched tight. “Boys learn to fight, girls learn to sew, because that is what happens!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve said. He met her gaze, and something magnetic in it prevented her from looking away. “Doesn’t matter what the gossips say. Doesn’t matter what the nobles or the mobs say. Doesn’t matter if everyone your whole life has told you that it’s wrong for you to be you, that you shouldn’t dare to reach for what makes you happy. When the whole world tells you to move, to live your life the way they want you to, your job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth and tell them ‘No.’.” He leaned in, voice lowering. “‘You move.’.”

Kel swallowed, scarcely breathing, pulse racing. She nodded, once, and Steve leaned back.

“I’m going to speak to Robert and Ned,” he said. “I’ll send Toby to squire for you.”

Her eyes followed him as he left, and he paused by the tent flap, but only for a moment. He gave her a final searching look, and then, satisfied with what he’d seen, left her there to prepare. The noise of the camp intruded briefly, but then faded again.

For long minutes, Kel stood there, absorbing what she had been told, turning it over in her mind from every angle. At length, she let out a breath.

She looked to her glaive.

X

The field outside the shrinking army camp was packed with more nobility than some royal courts. A section of grass had been stamped flat, and on each side of it a banner was planted. One bore a grey mountain peak, and the other a five pointed star, and beneath them gathered those who stood with each duellist. Joren waited before his own banner, backed by two of the knights who had colluded with him to deliver his barbs. Across from them, Steve stood with Robin, waiting for Keladry to arrive.

Spread out around them, nobles waited with bated breath. Every lord who could escape their duties was present, names and titles jockeying for the best view. Steve had seen several that he had come to know standing in the front rank, but he did not look to them. His gaze was fixed on the man who had plotted against his friend, who had done her injury in all but the physical. The man was pointedly avoiding his gaze.

“Does she mean to keep us waiting?” Joren called. “She has clearly made a habit of such things; she is over a year late in arriving for our marriage.” He had a mace on his hip, rather than the sword he wore earlier.

Steve did not so much as blink, and Joren’s words did not stir the reaction he was perhaps looking for, only sending a brief wave of glances towards the foreign lord.

Another minute passed, filled only by the quiet mutterings of the crowd. Then, in the distance, something changed.

It started with a whisper on the wind, a distant thing that pricked at the ear. It grew slowly, a rising wave as something approached. It became a flurry of disbelief, spread from person to person. Finally it arrived with an unspoken challenge, heralded by the glaive that rose above the crowd. Shocked exclamations filled the field, and Steve did not try to hold back his savage grin as the lords began to clamour.

Kel had arrived, and she was done hiding. Gone were the form hiding clothes, gone was masculine hairstyle, gone was any worry about hiding who she was. Now she wore a dress of blue and grey, and her hair had been braided into a crown. Though the dress was modest, she had clearly grown beyond its fitting, and there was no doubting she was a woman, even as strong and solid as she was. The daughter of House Delnaimn had arrived, and she planted herself before the banner of her lord proudly, glaive in hand.

Joren laughed, high and disbelieving. He was torn between bewilderment and joy as he took Keladry in, seeing the glaive and the dress and finding himself unable to reconcile them. The near furor of the crowd fell in anticipation as the events of the day began to unfold.

“You cannot expect me to duel a woman,”Joren said. He laughed again. “It is - no.”

“Are you scared?” Keladry asked.

Joren sneered. He had a face made for it, it seemed. “You are my betrothed. You will be my wife. I will not require force to discip-”

“Bitch.”

There was a moment where the only sound was a flurry of intaken breaths, and then someone sniggered. Joren’s face went white with anger. Apparently robbed of his speech, he pulled his mace free from his hip, but he did not advance into the field. Instead he turned to his second, holding out his mace.

The mace was taken and replaced with a sword, and an ugly mutter swept through the crowd. Robert snarled, about to take a step forward, but then Ned put a hand on his shoulder, nodding towards Steve. His grin still hadn’t faded, if anything the swap of weapons had only made it wider. The stormlord subsided, deciding to trust in his friends, but still he glowered.

There would be no more talk. Joren stalked across the field, sword and teeth bared, armour clanking with every step. Keladry remained still, glaive planted on the ground beside her. There was a beat, and then the duel began.

Joren lunged, aiming to take Kel in the shoulder. A moment later there was the ring of steel, followed almost immediately by a harsh crack, and Joren was stumbling back, hand held to his jaw. It was the same side that was still reddened by her slap. A murmur ran around the crowd.

When the blond man looked up, Kel had returned to her stance, still standing ready. The sight of it seemed to infuriate him even further.

“If you insist on continuing this farce,” Joren spat, “I will not restrain myself to wounding.”

Keladry reacted a jot, save to raise her chin in challenge. It was Brandon Stark who snorted, and Joren flushed. A moment later, the duel resumed.

Steel swiped across Kel’s belly, but it was met by steel in turn, and the iron butt of her glaive met his knee with a loud clang. A gasp was torn from the man, and he hopped back, sword held ready.

“All you had to do,” he ground out, “was accept your fate, and none of this would have been necessary!” He attacked again, but again he was turned away, glaive spinning faster than he could respond. Steel screeched three times as he was touched groin, shoulder, and wrist.

“I reject that fate,” Keladry told him. Her voice soared above the noise of their duel, and he stumbled back again to reset.

“Shield!” he demanded of his second, and the man hurried to hold out the shield that he had presumed not to need.

Keladry let him, blankly polite.

“You don’t even know what trouble you have caused, the plans you delayed,” Joren ranted at her. “I should have had an heir from you by now!”

“I know exactly what trouble I caused, what plans I delayed,” Kel told him. “And so does my grandmother.”

Joren led with his shield, seeking to bash the glaive out of the way as he slashed at her leg, but it was not to be, the shield swept aside in turn to foul his own strike by unexpected strength. Joren tried to recover, putting his shoulder into a push to force her back, but she caught it upon the middle of her weapon, boots bracing in the dirt of the field.

“You know nothing!” Joren said, snarling over his shield at her, even as he tried to spare one knee his weight. “If your miserly family had sent better than one old fool to lead your escort-!”

Keladry exploded into movement, rising up to put her body into forcing her betrothed back and away. He backpedalled as he fought to keep his feet, but Kel was advancing for the first time, leaving Steve’s banner behind as she chased her foe across their arena.

“That old fool was worth a dozen of you!” she shouted. “That old fool taught me to fight! That old fool cut down your knight like a green boy after he threatened me with rape!” Every shout was accompanied by another strike, another vital point touched and marked. “That old fool deserved better than to have his grave disturbed and left for carrion!”

Joren’s swipes grew wilder and wilder as he was chased around the field, whatever self-control he had possessed fleeing him as he was unmanned before the crowd of worthies. He didn’t seem to realise that it was not his armour saving him, as he continued to try to break through Kel’s defence, only to be denied every time.

“You will submit-!” he shrieked, unhinged.

Kel tired of him. The butt of her glaive came down heavily on his wrist, and it spasmed, sword falling from his grip unwillingly. A moment later he was struck about the head by the flat of her blade, dazing him, and then she struck his other knee. He collapsed with a gasp, his body betraying him. He looked up and froze, the tip of her glaive an inch from his face.

“I am not your bride,” she said, snarling out bride like one might whore. “I am not your prize. I am not the mother of your children.” Her eyes were blazing, rage and exhilaration and defiance worn clearly on her face in a show of emotion Steve had never seen from her. “I am a warrior, and I deny you.”

There was only the ragged panting of Joren to fill the silence, and Kel looked up at the crowd, daring anyone to challenge her. It was only Steve’s long familiarity with her that let him see the wild fear, throttled and buried down deep with an iron grip. She let out a breath, looking back down the length of her glaive at the man whose presence had haunted her for years now.

“Do you yield?” she demanded.

Hate filled eyes stared up at her, and he said nothing. The glaive tip drew closer.

“I yield,” Joren ground out, voice black with rage.

For a moment, it seemed she hadn’t heard it. Then she blinked, and her glaive lowered. She withdrew it and turned, looking around the crowd as if just seeing them for the first time. The hush that had fallen over them as the duel began lay heavy on them still She found Steve and Robin, and began to walk towards them.

Joren was staring at her back, as if her bare shoulders were mocking him. His eyes shrank to pinpricks, bulging, and he reached for his fallen sword.

Kel was already turning. Her movement was clean, practised, muscles shifting and moving smoothly under her dress. Joren had his blade in hand, rising up as he lunged, and he was followed by outraged shouts from the crowd. Kel swung, cutting through flesh and noise both.

Blood flicked from the glaive as Kel brought it to a stop. Joren fell to his knees, and a beat later, his head fell from his neck, landing on the ground with a thump. His corpse followed.

The warrior looked to the grey mountain peak banner, striking fear into the Burchard second. The man recoiled, taking a step back.

Steve stepped forward, his movement drawing the eye. “Does anyone,” he began, growing louder as he spoke, “have anything that they want to say about my sworn sword?” His gaze swept the crowd, taking in faces of all sorts. Some were in deep thought, many were furious, if for different reasons, but at least one was gleeful, and Bryn was standing beside his knight master looking at Kel like he had seen God. None spoke. “I didn’t think so.”

A look to Robin had him taking up the banner, and then they were turning to leave. Toby darted from the crowd to slam into Kel’s waist, looking up at her with awe and adoration, and her free hand came to rest on his shoulder.

Steve led the way, and the crowd parted before them. Muttering sprang up in their wake, growing and growing as lords argued and debated what they had seen, and there would doubtlessly be a reckoning to be had later, but that was for later. For now there was only victory.

Victory, and the small smile on Keladry’s face as she walked the world for the first time in two years without having to hide.