A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

Outside the tent, the buzz of the crowd pulsed with their excitement. From the noise, it seemed that every guest in the castle was crammed into the stands down by the lakeside. As the hour of the melee grew closer, the excitement only intensified.

Where Steve waited was insulated, distanced from the noise, even if only slightly. Funnily enough, he was assigned the same tent he had inadvertently barged in on Keladry in. He sat in it now, breathing easily, as he waited to be summoned. Before him was his weapons and armour, save his suit that he had already donned, and at his back was his squire for the day. Distantly, he could hear someone shouting, announcing something to the crowd. It was almost time.

A horn sounded in the distance, and from behind him, Keladry stepped forward, and he got to his feet. His suit didn’t need checking, but she did so anyway, and found all to be in order. From the bare mannequin before him, she took his helm and placed it upon his head. From the table she took his shield, and strapped it to his arm. From the weapon rack she took his hammer, and placed it in his hand.

“Are you ready?” Keladry asked. She wore the simple but well made clothing Naerys had purchased for her, and his star was upon her breast.

“I’m ready,” Steve said. And he was. His pulse was even, his arms steady. He was excited about the chance to challenge himself, but what he would face out there was no threat to him.

“Before we go,” Keladry said, “we have something for you.”

“We?” Steve asked, glancing around. He’d thought that Naerys had taken Robin and Toby up to the nobles’ boxes.

“We all contributed,” Keladry said. She went to the corner of the tent, and shifted a roll of canvas out of the way. Behind it was a furled cloth of a familiar navy blue, wrapped around a wooden pole. “There’s not enough room in here; I’ll show you outside.”

Steve had half an idea what it was, but he said nothing, bowing his head. In the distance, a horn blew.

There was nothing left to say, so they exited the tent, stepping out into the light. While nowhere near as busy as the days of the joust, Steve could still see a few people about, mostly servants sneaking glances at the finalists as they emerged from their tents. Across the way he matched eyes with the Valeman, Yohn Royce. He was a tall man with black hair that was fading to white, and he wore armour of bronze. Behind him was the man’s own squire, a young boy who looked to be a relation, holding a banner with black dots and runes upon it. He gave Steve a nod, which he returned, before making his way towards the field.

Behind him, Steve heard the unfurling of cloth, and he turned to look. Fastened atop a pole held by Keladry, a fine bolt of cloth fell to reveal fine stitching and a familiar symbol. On a background of blue, there was a white star, stitched to give the impression of depth. Around the inside edge of the banner was a line of red trim, and the cloth fell to two points at the bottom.

“I did the stitching,” Keladry said quietly. “Naerys distracted you and arranged to buy the materials. The boys had it delivered to the room when it was almost done, and we all pitched in on the cost.”

“Thank you,” Steve said simply. He took it in, marvelling at the work that must have gone into it.

“All will know your name,” Keladry said. It came across a little ominous.

“Let’s go and make sure of that then.”

The roar of the crowd only grew as they headed towards the waiting area, where they would be introduced to the field one by one. Still hidden from view by a barrier, the crowd seemed to sense their presence and grew all the louder. When Steve arrived there was only Yohn, and Walder from the North, but soon they were joined by the rest, Brandon Stark in armour embossed with wolves, Jon Connington in armour tinged red, Robert Baratheon, face hidden by an imposing antlered helm, and finally Barristan the Bold in his Kingsguard white. At each man’s side was their squire, all holding their banners high. He was grateful that his friends had gone to such effort for him; the banner Keladry held was the equal or better of any other on display.

There was no talking, no discussion to be had. Each man knew why they were here, and each was eager to be about it. Soon.

The horn blew again, and the barrier separating them from the field opened. The crowd found new heights of volume as the combatants strode forth. There was no order to them, no status dependent proceeding, and they spread apart as they made their way onto the field proper. Smallfolk screamed and shouted for their favourites, and even those in the noble stands were getting caught up in the excitement, some more than others. Steve held back a laugh as he saw Lyanna Stark almost brain the man next to her as she waved a grey scarf around. He looked around for his friends, and after a moment he found them, sitting with the Vaiths in decent seats. He raised his hammer towards them, smiling as the crowd swelled with the action. His three companions cheered, although he was pretty sure Toby was shouting for Kedry. Each spectator had their favourite, but the chants of their names blurred and blended together until all that was left was a wall of noise.

The jousting barriers had been cleared, leaving a wide dirt field, and upon it the arena had been marked out by heavy rope in the shape of a star. Seven points it had, with a large open circle in the middle, and each man made their way to the tip of one point. There was no jockeying for position, each fighter beyond such things and confident in their own skills besides. Their squires arrayed themselves around the field, at the backs of their masters, banners held proudly.

Steve whirled his hammer, feeling it thrum through the air. It wasn’t Mjolnir, but it would do.

To his left was Walder, the Giant of the North, and to his right was Robert Baratheon. Across from him was Barristan and Connington. He met Barristan’s eyes, and felt a frisson of anticipation rise between them.

There was another horn blast, and then another, and another, each rising above the one before it, and the crowd fell silent. A herald began to call out their names and titles, but Steve had little attention to spare for them. Quickly, the herald finished, and the anticipation began to build. His vision narrowed, and he began to plan his first move.

Like an eagle sighting its prey, Steve’s head turned to fix on Robert. The storm lord’s helm turned in response, and he lifted his hammer, accepting the challenge.

The silence dragged on, almost unbearable, and Steve’s focus narrowed to a razor point. Baratheon, Royce beyond him, then Connington, and finally Barristan. His boot shifted in the dirt as he readied himself.

Finally, the horn blew one last time, and as its brassy note faded, each fighter advanced down the spoke of the star they stood upon, towards the centre ring, each intent on violence. Around them, the crowd exploded in a cacophony of noise.

Steve turned to his right the moment he reached the centre, striding towards Robert. He was met halfway, and the fight was on. A heavy blow came down upon him, and he back-stepped easily to avoid it, only to find the haft coming for his chin, swung around by the original blow. The attack was faster than a man with a hammer had any right to be, and Steve bent backwards at the waist to avoid it. Hammer pressed into the ground to hold his weight, he lashed out, first with one foot, then the other. He connected solidly with Robert’s torso and forced the man back, the noble barely dodging the following heel that would have knocked his helm clean off as Steve leaned into the bend fully, turning the dodge into a full flip, before landing on his feet.

Robert was already attacking, hammer sweeping across in a move meant to force Steve to move, to dodge, to wear himself out. Instead, Steve stepped forward to take the blow squarely upon his shield. Metal met vibranium, and a low note rang out as Steve refused to be moved, even as Robert had his arms jarred by the resonance flowing back through his hammer.

Staring over the jagged edge of his shield, Steve met Robert’s shadowed gaze as he drew his own hammer back behind himself. The blow was telegraphed, even to a layman, and Robert Baratheon was no layman, not in the art of war and hammer, but when the flanged and spiked hammer swept around with the power of a superhuman behind it, that meant little. It was Robert’s turn to dodge, springing backwards to avoid the attack. Such was its speed that the air thrummed with its passing.

A retaliating strike was aborted before it could truly begin, as what should have been a telling opening after such a heavy blow never came to be, Steve’s hammer already reversing its course, curved spike first and aiming to hook the haft of Robert’s weapon.

Rather than pull back, Robert stepped closer, again striking with the haft, moving to bash him in the face and warding off the attempted disarm in one smooth move. Against any other man it would have worked, the storm lord’s superior hammer skills proving the difference, but Steve was not any other man. His grip shifted on his hammer, bringing it into a reverse grip and turning a cross body sweep into a block that looked more like a staff move, manipulating the heavy warhammer like it was nothing.

Attack blocked, hammer out of position, and with no time to move, Robert could do nothing as Steve swung his shield up, blunt edge leading, and slammed it into the side of his helm. The noble collapsed, strings cut, only for Steve to catch him and gently lower him to the ground.

Setting his hammer down for a moment, Steve held two fingers to Robert’s neck, and let out a breath as he felt a strong pulse. A moment later, Robert stirred, conscious again, but disorientated.

“What in the arse…” Robert slurred out.

“You’re on your back son,” Steve said. “Do you yield?”

Robert tried to shift, taking in his bearings, hand grasping automatically for his hammer. His mind caught up with him, and he let out a gusty sigh. “Aye, I yield. That was a good fight, damn your eyes.”

“We’ll have another before the tournament is over,” Steve said, getting back to his feet and taking up his hammer.

“You’re gods damned right we will,” Robert said. He rose slower, hand held to his dented helm. His squire was already approaching, banner left planted in the dirt, hovering worriedly as he guided him off the field.

Steve made to turn to his next foe, only to pause as a flash of silver caught his eye. Happenstance saw him facing the section his friends were seated in, and he flashed a smile at Naerys and the others before focusing once more. One down.

X

Naerys forced herself to keep her smile reserved as she clapped for Steve, Robin and Toby to her right, being somewhat less reserved.

“You are sure the songs are false?” Tyta Vaith asked, teasing, to her left. On the Dornishwoman’s other side was her husband Deryk, but the man was too engaged in the spectacle of the melee to listen in.

“Yes, quite sure,” Naerys answered, but Tyta must have read something into her answer that was not there, for she let out a delighted little laugh.

“If you say,” she said, flipping her tumbling dark hair over her shoulder.

“I do say,” Naerys answered, tartly, but without rancor.

“Your Lord America is a warrior to watch out for,” Derryk said, joining their conversation. “Baratheon is no mean fighter and he made it look simple.”

Naerys ignored the amused flash in Tyta’s brown eyes, making a noise of agreement as she watched the fights. Barristan the Bold was fighting the two Northerners at the same time, and winning.

“A curse on those infernal bookmakers, I could have won a fortune,” Derryk lamented.

Naerys frowned. “What do you mean?” She had an ill feeling.

“I had planned to bet on Lord Steve to take the event, but for some reason my gold wasn’t good enough for them,” Derryk said.

“Were they not taking bets?” Naerys asked.

“Oh they were taking bets, just not in favour of your man,” Derryk said.

“They refused to take my coin, also,” Naerys said. “I thought it was because I was a member of Steve’s retinue, but clearly not.”

The Vaiths exchanged a look. “That is passing strange,” Tyta said. “Adjusting the odds is not uncommon, but to refuse to take a bet at all…”

The crowd gave a great shout as Barristan slapped the giant Northman, Walder, upside the head with the flat of his sword, and the big man dropped his sword, stepping back from the fight. Another roar came as Yohn Royce forced Jon Connington to his knees with a cunning twist of his blade, forcing a yield. Naerys watched as Brandon and Barristan clashed furiously, but her focus was captured by Steve stepping up to Royce, and conversation was forgotten.

X

Steve waited patiently as Connington and Royce fought, youthful vigor coming up short against hard won experience. The Valeman’s blade looked like a snake as he tangled Connington’s guard up, before using his height to drive the redhead to his knees.

“Yield,” Connington forced out.

Royce stepped back, allowing Connington to get to his feet and stomp off, clearly unhappy with himself.

“Would you like a moment?” Steve asked of Royce. The noble was past his prime, but still clearly in fighting form, and his hair was greying rather than greyed.

Royce didn’t quite startle at Steve’s words, but his guard was clearly raised. “Word is doing the rounds about you, Lord America.” He was breathing heavily, but evenly, and he turned to face Steve properly.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Steve said. He tossed his hammer idly, letting the haft spin round before catching it again.

“I’ve heard mixed things,” Royce said. “But at the least I can say you’re not the sort of man to interrupt a duel.”

“Ma raised me to be polite,” Steve said.

“She sounds a fine lady,” Royce said. He set himself, breath recovered and sword ready. “I thank you for the pause, but you won’t put off your defeat any longer.” His tone was joking, but his eyes were intent.

“I’ve got an appointment with the old man over there,” Steve said, nodding towards the ring of steel on steel that was Barristan and Brandon. “So don’t take this loss all personal like.”

“Ha!” Royce lunged forward, sword tip seeking his shoulder. He was tall, and his bronze armour hardly seemed to weigh on him at all, and what some might have thought to be a safe distance was proven to be no safety at all.

Steve moved to trap the blade with the jagged edge of his shield, aiming to twist it from Royce’s hands, but the man was too canny, pulling back before he could be disarmed.

A straight thrust with his hammer saw Steve returning the favour, spike first, but Royce half-handed his sword and battered the hammer off course, stepping into his guard, leading with a hilt bash. Steve caught it upon his shield, and then another, skipping back to get some space and reset himself. Royce followed, unwilling to let up the pressure, and their dance crossed half the arena.

From the corner of his eye, Steve saw Brandon backpedaling rapidly, doing all he could to ward off the flurry of blows Barristan was raining down upon him, but his own fight demanded his attention.

Ceasing his retreat, Steve jumped into a twist and spin, trying to kick Royce square in the face. Royce jerked to a stop, taken off guard, forced to throw himself back to avoid the blow. He landed on his back, and Steve was on him before he could recover. Royce rolled to avoid a hammer blow, then rolled again to avoid a knee to the side of his head, and again when the shield came down where his head had just rested. In all his rolling he kept a grip on his sword, but there was no chance to bring it to bear, and no respite to get to his feet.

With a lunge, Steve seized Royce’s arm with his shield hand, putting a stop to his dodging, and then pinned him in place with the curved spike of his hammer resting on the lip of his pauldron. The Valeman froze as he felt the metal press against his gambeson.

“Yield?” Steve asked.

There was a pregnant pause, but the victor was obvious. “I yield,” Yohn Royce agreed.

Steve got to his feet, and reached down to offer his opponent a hand up. Royce accepted, and was hauled to his feet.

“Good fight,” Steve said.

Royce winced, working out his shoulder. “I haven’t scrapped in the dirt like that since I was a squire.” He clapped Steve on the shoulder. “Looks like the ‘old man’ is ready for that appointment,” he said, nodding past Steve.

Steve turned. Barristan the Bold was watching, waiting for their fight to be over. His hands were clasped over the pommel of his sword, its tip resting in the dirt. His brow was smudged with dirt, and there was sweat at his temples, but his expression was eager, almost hungry. Royce walked from the field, but he was an afterthought, as Steve focused on the final challenge before him.

The last two men in the arena stared each other down, and slowly, the noise of the crowd died. They had fought alongside each other before, and sparred many times, but not like this.

Steve was the first to move, beginning to pace to one side, like a jungle cat circling its prey. Barristan matched him, circling in the opposite direction. The sound of their boots in the dirt was loud, only the flapping of pennants and banners rising above it.

Barristan’s sword was held in a low guard, tip pointing downwards. It almost invited an attack, but Steve had seen how quickly the other man could shift his blade, and he wasn’t baited. Still, the crowd held its breath.

“You’re not too tired are you, Barristan?” Steve asked. “I’d say it’s about time for your nap.”

Barristan’s eyes gleamed in challenge. “I’ve more than enough fire in my belly to put you down for yours, Steve.”

As they spoke, their circle grew smaller and smaller. Soon, they would be in striking distance.

“You’re sure that feeling in your gut isn’t just indigestion?” Steve asked.

“Quite sure,” Barristan said. “What you will soon feel may be similar, but truthfully it will be my boot up your arse.”

They were close now, close enough to strike if they truly wanted, but each knew that to do so and fail would be to leave themselves open. Steve let his shield drift lower, ever so slightly, and Barristan almost took the false opportunity, stopping himself at the last moment and opening a vulnerability of his own - but this too was a trap.

The silent tension was almost unbearable, and the arena seemed about to burst under the strain. Everyone, from beggar to King, was silent, intent on the two fighters before them, one a living legend, the other a near stranger.

When it came, it was too sudden to predict, for all but the most skilled observers. One moment the two were staring each other down, the next Steve had jerked his head to the side to avoid a swordpoint, his hammer again used to thrust out like a spear. Barristan had avoided the counter blow in the same move he had attacked with, a gliding lunge that brought him in close.

The crowd gasped at the attempted killing blow, but then they were roaring, those first strikes the herald for more. Barristan leant and swayed to a tune no one else could hear, moving around Steve’s hammer with ease. The quicksilver of his sword was too much to be harried by the heavier weapon, but for every time it got past the hammer, the shield was there to meet it, blocking its path without so much as a scratch.

Steve found himself being forced back with every other attack, almost chased around the ring in an attempt to bring his hammer to bear, but Barristan showed no mercy, pushing ever closer to keep him on the defence. His shield kept him in the fight, but that was it.

Finally, Barristan slowed for the barest of moments, and Steve seized his chance. Hammer ill positioned, he shield bashed the next sword strike he caught, knocking Barristan back a vital step, gaining just enough space to swing his hammer. He struck, faster than any man could expect, with a diagonal blow meant to spike Barristan into the dirt.

Barristan was not just any man. He tucked into a roll, dirtying his white cloak but avoiding the hammer entirely, and popped up behind and to the side of Steve. Still crouched, almost in the same movement, he was slashing towards Steve’s hamstring.

Steve leaped and twisted, avoiding the crippling blow and aiming to bring his boot down on Barristan’s shoulder, but again the wily old knight was too quick, darting out of the way as soon as he knew his strike wouldn’t connect. Steve stepped back, seeking space, but Barristan refused to give it to him, pressing in close to begin the dance again. He grimaced.

The hammer was only getting in his way. Speed and power could forgive many sins, but not enough against a foe like Barristan the Bold. Between one move and the next, Steve dropped his hammer, reaching for Barristan almost before the man could understand what he had done. Steve’s fingers closed on empty air rather than the knight’s throat, and now it was his turn to backpedal, as Steve fell into a familiar rhythm, no longer constrained by the unfamiliar weight.

Castle-forged steel was slapped aside by the flat of its blade, as Steve forced openings in Barristan’s guard. He jumped, leading with his knee, but rather than let it break his nose, Barristan let himself fall back into a roll, forcing the followup shield blow aside with his sword. Somehow a dagger appeared in his off hand, and Steve was forced to suck his stomach in to avoid a slash that could have disemboweled someone without armour.

Steve punched Barristan square in the chest, and the clang of steel was audible even over the crowd. The knight was forced back, wheezing, but when Steve sought to press his advantage, he was gifted with a scratch along the brow of his helm, not even an inch above his eye. Both men watched the other warily, falling to circling once more.

Barristan was breathing heavily, and Steve was feeling a bit of a sweat, but both wore grins. They knew the fight would end soon, and neither wanted to give it anything less than their all.

The moment did not last long. Barristan pressed in, sword seeking Steve’s throat, dagger angling for his groin, and Steve decided to do something about it. His foot came up, kicking away the dagger hand, and he moved to trap the sword with his shield once again - but not to disarm his foe, not this time. This time, he caught the sword with the jagged edge of his shield, and slammed his palm against its flat with a swift and unforgiving blow.

The sound of Barristan’s sword snapping sounded across the field, and Steve exploited the moment ruthlessly. He seized Barristan by the throat and lifted him overhead to slam him onto the ground, back first, driving the wind from him with the force of the impact. In the same moment he struck with his shield edge, aiming for the throat.

X

The crowd was struck dumb, the unexpected end to the fight taking them off guard. Few were those who had seen a duel fought with such deadly intent, and never in a supposedly friendly melee. They watched as the foreign warrior rose to his feet, looking down at the fallen legend. A small cloud of dust from the final blow hung in the air. For a small eternity, all was still.

Then, Barristan the Bold coughed, drawing in a ragged breath as he fought to sit up. The warrior in blue reached down, offering his hand, and Barristan accepted it, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet. Still the crowd was quiet, as the two men spoke briefly.

X

“I’ve not been pressed like that since I slew Maelys,” Barristan said, fighting to fill his lungs, each breath a little easier than the last.

“There’s only two other men who have come closer to beating me,” Steve admitted, hesitating only briefly. Tony and Bucky were the only ones who deserved the mention.

“They must be fearsome fighters,” Barristan said. He paused, before looking about, taking in the near silent crowd. “I’ve come to know you, Steve, since we met in the Kingswood. You are a man amongst men, and a warrior amongst warriors. I know your ways are not ours, but if you would accept it, I would knight you, here and now.”

Steve blinked, taken aback, and tried to get his thoughts in order.

Barristan leaned in, looking him in the eye. “What say you?”

“I...,” Steve said. “The oath, it’s the same as Jaime’s?”

“The oath of knighthood asks nothing of you that you do not already demand of yourself,” Barristan said.

“Then yes,” he said, spine akin to steel. “I accept.”

“Good,” Barristan said. He took up his broken sword, half of it missing, and pointed it at the ground. “Kneel, and think on the oath to come.”

Steve knelt, and the crowd, once barely murmuring to itself, exploded once more. A veritable wall of sound buffeted them, before they hushed themselves to a dull roar.

“In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave,” Barristan said, leaning in to tap remnants of the sword to one shoulder.

Steve remembered Bucky. Bucky pulling him from an alley, Bucky falling into the snow, Bucky looking at him with blank eyes, Bucky welcoming him to his house in Wakanda.

“In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.”

Steve remembered Abraham. Abraham quizzing him in the enlistment room, Abraham almost sharing a drink with him, Abraham dying in his arms.

“In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent.”

Steve remembered his Ma. Ma telling him about his father, Ma reading his teacher the riot act, Ma fading away from the disease she caught helping others.

“In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women.”

Steve remembered Peggy. Peggy talking with him in a car, Peggy shooting at him, Peggy’s voice over a radio, Peggy looking at him without recognition.

He remembered Nat.

“Arise, Ser Steve Rogers, Lord of America, and a knight.”

Steve arose as a knight, and the crowd cheered his name.

X x X

In the aftermath of the melee, Barristan led Steve from the field and into the stands, heading for the tallest and grandest of them. Servants had gathered the fragments of Barristan’s sword, and picked up Steve’s hammer, promising to see them to where they belonged.

They passed through crowds of nobles, many toasting or calling out to them, but they continued past them, towards a wooden staircase guarded by a pair of men in the armour of the Kingsguard. As they approached, however, a servant darted down, and hurried to approach Barristan, leaning in to have a quick, whispered conversation with him. After a moment, the servant hurried off, back up the stairs and into the stands.

Barristan paused for a moment, before coming to a decision. “The King has taken poorly,” he said. “Lord Whent awaits.” He turned, making for the stand immediately to the side of what had to be the King’s stand.

The stand that Steve was led into was more luxurious than those he had watched the jousting from in the days prior, outfitted with fine carvings and rich tapestries. There were fewer nobles within too, and those that were wore clothes draped with wealth.

“Ser Steve!” A man in pride of place rose from his seat, arms held wide in welcome. He wore a sigil of yellow and black on his breast, and he bore a similar bluntly handsome look to Wylis Whent, the man who Steve had spoken with after the axe throwing. “Do I have the privilege of being the second to greet you as such, after Ser Barristan?”

“You do, Lord Whent,” Steve said, extending a hand and wearing his best, ‘I-don’t-know-you-at-all-but-I’ll-pretend-to-be-your-pal-for-the-cameras-if-you-buy-war-bonds’ smile.

“That was a mighty contest,” Whent said, accepting Steve’s hand in the local way. “I dare say we will all be talking of it for years to come.”

“You’re too kind,” Steve said.

“The joust may struggle to match it, I say,” Whent said. “But that isn’t why I hoped to speak with you.”

Steve had half an idea what he wanted to speak about, and he looked around. There were a handful of other people in the stand, listening in interest or pretending not to be.

“Your winnings,” Lord Whent continued. “Fifteen thousand gold dragons. We can proceed with them in the same manner as that of the axe, if you wish…?”

“Yes, I would prefer that,” Steve said. “We can talk about the details later.”

“Quite so,” Whent said. “As we wait, may I have the pleasure of introducing my wife, Lady Shella?”

“Pleasure,” Steve said, affecting a small bow.

“Charmed, ser,” Shella said.

Quick footsteps pounded up the staircase, and they rapidly slowed as they neared the top. A servant emerged, carrying with them a well crafted wooden box, inlaid with mother of pearl. It was carried to the lord of the castle, and placed before him.

“Excellent,” Lord Whent said. “Beyond the monetary prize, I thought it best to include a more personal token of my esteem. Please, come forth.”

Steve stepped forward, towards the front of the stand, and into view. The stands curved around the jousting field, giving many of the spectators a good view of him. He raised an arm, and the cheers were renewed.

“Bread and tournaments,” Whent said, to Steve alone as he joined him at the front. “Such a simple thing to keep the people happy, and yet so many do not.”

Steve gave him a look, but kept his smile on his face.

“Behold your prize,” Whent said, offering up the box. On it was a hunting scene, carved with exacting precision. He opened the box, revealing what was concealed inside.

A horn rested on velvet, a band of gold around its mouth and a steel cap at its tip. The craftsmanship exceeded that of the box it was held within. Something told him that it was probably just as expensive as his bow.

“Take it up, give it a blast,” Whent said, excited.

Steve took up the horn, giving a quick thought to hope he didn’t whiff the attempt. He breathed deep, held the horn to his lips, and blew.

A dirge-like call rang out over the grounds, quieting all present for several heartbeats. Then there was a great rumbling, as thousands of hands beat against whatever hard surface they could find.

“That’s a horn to strike fear into your enemies,” Whent said.

“You’re not wrong,” Steve said. Gently, he placed it back into its box. It was almost too nice to want to use, let alone take into battle, but it did look hardy enough for it. The supple leather thong attached to each end would see it tied easily to his hip, too.

Lord Whent leaned over the barrier of the stand and gave a nod to someone. A moment later, the same brassy horn as earlier sounded, and the herald’s voice bellowed out.

“The victor of the melee, Ser Steve Rogers, Lord of America!”

“My congratulations again,” Lord Whent said, sinking back into his chair. “I presume you wish to celebrate with your companions, so I shan’t keep you.”

Steve gave him a nod. “Thanks for your hospitality.” Turning, he found Barristan waiting for him, and they headed down the stairs, leaving the stand behind.

“I would like to speak with you once the tournament is done, before you leave,” Barristan said to him.

“Sure,” Steve said after a moment. It wasn’t like people were just a message away here; it could be months before he saw the knight again. “I’ll look you up before we go.”

“Thank you, Steve,” Barristan said. There was a hint of a shadow behind his expression, but still he smiled.

Keladry was waiting for Steve, banner still held against her shoulder.

“Kedry,” Steve said. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“That was incredible, Steve,” Keladry said. Her usual sober bearing was stripped away. “I’ve never seen a fight like that, let alone three.”

“I just did what I know,” Steve said. He began to walk, circling his way around back to the preparation area, and Keladry fell in beside him.

“Could you teach me to fight like that?” Keladry asked. “I understand you’ve already done a lot for Toby and me, but I could serve you better if-”

“Kedry,” Steve said, holding up a hand. “I’m already teaching you how to do that.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The lessons I’ve been giving Naerys, and Robin, that you’ve been sitting in on and helping with, they’re the foundations for what I did out there,” Steve said.

Keladry pondered his words as they returned to the preparation tents, tall banner and Steve’s armour both drawing the eye of those they passed. None approached or crowded them, a silent respect from noble and smallfolk alike ensuring a small bubble remained about them as they went.

“We’ll collect the equipment and then go and find the others, I think,” Steve said, as they entered the tent they had prepared in. It felt longer, but it had barely been half an hour ago.

“They ought to still be in the stands,” Keladry said, wrapping the banner up as it was earlier and placing it on the canvas.

“Then we - can I help you?” Steve asked.

They were not alone in the tent. A familiar figure stood within, the cap of Steve’s suit held in his hands as he inspected it closely. An emerald ring sat heavy on his pinky finger. They ran their fingers over the material, peering at the seams and the ‘A’ on the front.

“Can I help you,” Steve repeated, in the tone of someone who is not much interested in being of help.

“Ser Steve,” the man greeted, smiling. “I’m glad we have this chance to talk.” Brown hair lay flat against his head. “Lady Keladry, a pleasure.”

Steve heard Keladry’s breath seize in her throat, and he kept his expression steady. “I’m afraid I’m not sure who you’re talking about. Who did you say you were?”

“Who I am is rather less important than who your companion is, skilled jouster that they are,” the man said. There was a pleased look in his eye, one that spoke of having just come into a goodly amount of luck. “I must say, did you really think you could sign up to compete in a nobility restricted event with only the meanest of changes to your identity and no one would notice?”

“Kyllan,” Keladry said, voice frigid.

“You do remember me, and you were only a young girl at that feast too,” the man, Kyllan, said.

“Scum leaves an impression,” Keladry said.

“How rude,” Kyllan said, still pleased. He placed the head cap back on the table. “I must admit, I’m a touch shocked. Your family isn’t quite so provincial that no one would know that the ninth child is a daughter, not another son.”

“Is there a point to this?” Steve asked, voice hard.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re a busy man on account of your recent fortune, Ser Steve,” Kyllan said. “I’ll be brief. I want 2000 gold dragons, or word of your little social misstep will spread. What that will mean for you and your little retinue, I can’t say, but I’m sure you’ll agree that I am the cheaper option.”

Steve stared at the man, not blinking.

“Yes, well,” Kyllan said. “I’ll give you the night to think about it. If the joust is decided before I have my gold, I’ll assume you’ve declined my offer.” He made for the tent exit, stepping widely around Steve and Keladry, who were only a few steps inside.

Steve’s head swivelled, following him, until he ducked through the tent flaps and hurried away.

The moment he was gone, Keladry sank to her knees, head in her hands. “I am a fool. A blind, unthinking fool.”

“On your feet, soldier,” Steve barked.

Animal instinct put steel in Keladry’s spine, seeing her rise back to her feet with a jerk.

“That’s the man who spoke with me after the melee a few days ago,” Steve said. “Who is he?”

“Kyllan Stoneford,” Keladry said. “He’s lord of a minor House near my home - I will leave. Depart your retinue and disavow connection; it will be his word against yours.”

“Keladry, that’s the first foolish thing I’ve seen you do,” Steve said. “You don’t have to go anywhere.”

Keladry gave a low laugh, void of humour. “No, I was a fool. When I signed up for the joust, I said I was a noble.”

“Are you not?” Steve asked. A breeze rippled along the tent walls, carrying with it the distant noise of the crowd.

“Keladry Delnaimn is a noble,” she said. “Kedry is very much not. If I wanted to joust, I had to lie. I told them I was Kedry Delnaimn. I lied.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got awful handwriting?” Steve asked. “Can’t just say they read it wrong?”

“Near perfect,” Keladry said, gloomy. She sank down into a chair.

“Is it a crime?” Steve asked. He began to pace, thinking. “Could we just ignore him?”

Keladry grimaced. “It’s enough of a crime that someone inclined to hurt me for it could do so.”

“So we have a threat that we can’t ignore.”

“You could,” Keladry said, looking up.

“Kela-” Steve began.

“No, Steve. Listen to me,” she said, looking him dead in the eye. “You have taken Toby and me into your retinue. You have sheltered and outfitted us. You found out that which I hid from you, and you did not reject me for it, as would have been your right. I have done nothing for you in return save for the share the bare scraps of glory I achieved here, and even that has become a poisoned gift. The only smart move is to dismiss me.”

“I’m not often accused of being a smart man,” Steve said. He held a hand up when Keladry opened her mouth to respond. “Keladry. The thing you need to understand, is that I don’t give a damn what a bully like that thinks, or what he thinks he can threaten me with. The way I’ve treated you and Toby is just called being a decent person. I haven’t let a bully walk over me in my life, and I’m not going to start now.”

“So you mean to ignore the threat and let Kyllan reveal it to all?” Keladry asked, dubious. “I do not think you understand how much this will hurt your standing. Also, my own family...”

“I don’t mean to ignore anything,” Steve said. “But I don’t mean to make a decision without talking it over with the others, either.”

“I..yes, I understand,” Keladry said. She got to her feet, steadier now. “Thank you, Steve. You are a better lord than I deserve.”

“Hell, just wait until I drag you into some mess or another,” Steve said, rubbing his head as they made to gather up their belongings. “You’ll be cursing me out soon enough.”

X

“He wants how much.” Naerys’ voice was hard, and her lips thinned.

“Two thousand gold,” Steve said.

They were gathered in their suite, the five of them, plus Dodger. Keladry was seated, Dodger resting his head on her knee and Toby standing close to her, while Robin leaned against a wall across the room. Steve fought the urge to pace, standing across from Naerys, who was leaning with her arms propping her up against the table like a general over a battlemap.

“Unacceptable,” Naerys said.

“It’s just gold, and we’ve got what, eighteen thousand more where that came from?”

“It’s not about the money,” Naerys said. “If you bow to him once, he will know he holds your leash,” she said, and it had the tone of a quote. “Next time he may not demand coin, but there will be a next time, and he will demand something.”

“There’s nothing keeping us in Westeros after this tournament,” Robin pointed out. Despite having the greatest concerns about Keladry’s secret once it was revealed, and his misgivings having come to pass, he had voiced no recriminations and was as worried as the rest of them.

“Keladry’s family is in Westeros, and known to this Kyllan Stoneford,” Naerys said. “Given that she is the vehicle of this blackmail, he won’t hesitate to involve them.”

“And we’d come running,” Steve said, crossing his arms.

“We could kill ‘im,” Toby said.

“So we can’t pay him and expect him to go away,” Steve said. “What about paying him to lower his guard and give us time to deal with him?”

“Maybe,” Naerys said. “It would be a tacit admission of guilt, but it’s an option.”

“What about bluffing him out?” Robin asked. “Call him a liar, and dare anyone to challenge your word.”

“I still signed up under the name of Kedry,” Keladry said. “My family may not be noteworthy, but it is still known. All he would have to do is let the maesters do their work.”

“We could kill ‘im,” Toby said again.

“What are the consequences of being known as a woman?” Steve asked.

“It would not be the end of the world,” Keladry said, hesitating. “Some would look poorly upon my family for allowing me to bear arms, but I have no prospects regardless.”

“Why is - is that relevant to the issue at hand?” Steve asked, changing his mind as he spoke.

“A consequence of my failed journey to my betrothed,” Keladry said. “And the situation around it.”

“So not relevant to the topic at hand,” Naerys said. “But revealing Keladry as a woman is not feasible given the circumstances of her entrance to the joust. One ‘misdeed’ we could weather, but not both.”

“We could kil-”

“No, Toby,” three voices answered him.

Toby sulked.

“You could threaten to kill him,” Robin said. They turned to face him, some more approving than others, and he flushed. “You don’t have to mean it, so long as he thinks you do.” He swallowed. “You’ve kind of made a name for yourself.”

“It’s an option,” Steve said. He drummed his fingers against his leg. “We’ve got some decent ideas, even if some are a bit overzealous,” he said. There was a solution here, he knew it.

“We could turn this back on him,” Naerys said, brow furrowed in thought. She took her weight off the table, crossing her arms. “If he were to be discredited in the eyes of the nobles, his threat would have no teeth.”

“Could we spread gossip from him?” Robin asked. “If he accused Robert Baratheon of being a sword swallower, no one would take what he says about a minor Vale noble seriously.”

“Big storm lord got a little brother,” Toby said. “If Kyllan said he was diddling him, I bet he wouldn't be long for the world.”

Naerys winced at the thought. “Perhaps if all else fails.”

“Wait,” Steve said. “It’s not that you’re a woman that would cause the most harm, right? It’s that you lied on the sign up?”

“Yes,” Keladry said, slowly.

“What if the paperwork said Keladry?”

There was a considering silence.

“It would be a convenient solution,” Keladry said. “There are those who would still cry foul, but it could not be used to hurt us nearly as much.”

“Lyanna would know where the records are kept,” Robin said, chewing on his lip. “But it’s not enough. It takes the fire out of his threat, but he’s still free to come at you again.”

Toby nodded. “Yer right Robin. There’s a latrine we can dump him down.”

“Kyllan was quick to blackmail you,” Naerys said. “What if there was to be proof of further blackmail found?”

“‘Proof’,” Steve said.

“Proof,” Naerys replied.

“I don’t want to accuse anyone of something we can’t take back,” Steve said.

“We can frame it as Kyllan faking it himself,” she said.

“Well, we’re already taking liberties with one set of papers,” Steve said, shrugging. “I’ll need an example of his writing.”

“You can forge?” Keladry asked, hazel eyes blinking in surprise. She leaned forwards in her chair, scratching at Dodger’s ears.

“Something I picked up in the war,” Steve said.

“How do we catch him out with the faked fake blackmail?” Robin asked. He stepped away from the wall, eagerness in his frame. “It’d need to be in his possession, in his room probably, but if he finds it he’d just throw it out, and be on to the trick.”

“We could have a servant find it,” Naerys said. “A few coins and they’ll report it to the right person.”

“Just call ‘im a twat in front of a crowd,” Toby said. “Then kick the shit outta him and tell the guards to search his room.”

The adults in the room shared a look.

“As much as I don’t like it, it would work,” Steve said.

“Pick a fight with him,” Keladry said, “but accuse him of attempting to bribe you to throw the melee, and then threatening you for your winnings afterwards when you didn’t.”

Naerys’ eyes lit up. “Keladry, what kind of man is Kyllan? You said you knew him.”

“Miserly, and a terrible lord to labour under,” Keladry said. “He treats his smallfolk like property.” Anger coloured her voice.

“Frame the blackmail as targeting those who did well in the events or gambling,” Naerys said. “Steve is both, and could have been seen as an easy mark.”

“Yeah, to a right idiot,” Toby said.

“Kyllan then,” Robin added. The boys snickered.

“If enough attention is drawn, the Whents would be obliged to hear both sides,” Keladry said. “They would check the joust sign on, and search Kyllan’s quarters.”

“So,” Steve said, clapping his hands together. “Remove his threat by changing the name on the joust rolls. Plant evidence in his room. Pick a fight with him and accuse him of misdeeds before he can do the same to us, and make sure it’s a spectacle. Am I missing anything?”

“Kick ‘is arse after yer done,” Toby said.

“Of course,” Steve said dryly. A thought occurred to him. “He wouldn’t be executed for this, would he?”

“No,” Naerys said. “Ejected from the castle, with a stench of disfavour to follow him for years, but not executed.”

“Good enough for me,” Steve said. He glanced at Keladry, smirk tugging at his lips. “What do you say, ready to give a bully what they’ve got coming?”

The despair that had overcome Keladry earlier was nowhere to be seen as she met Steve’s gaze with squared shoulders and a straight spine. “Lead the way, Ser Steve.”

X

The look on Lyanna’s face was entirely unimpressed. “So ya want ta get into the records room, but ya can’t tell me why, and ya can’t tell me what for.”

Robin winced. “Yeah. But we don’t need you to risk anything, just get us inside.”

“Oh sure, that’s no risk at all,” Lyanna said, crossing her arms. “An’ what’s in it for me?”

They were standing in an out of the way storeroom in the Tower of Dread, the tower mostly used for supplies. After changing into less attention grabbing clothes, Robin had guided Steve to where he somehow knew Lyanna would be working, folding linens, while the others got their hands on the items they would need to alter the records.

“What is it you want?” Steve asked.

Lyanna took on a calculating mien. “Ya did real well at this tourney.”

Steve nodded. “A job like this would be worth a handful of silver.”

“I don’t want ya coin,” Lyanna said. “I want a favour.”

“A favour,” Steve said, considering. He revised his estimation of the girl upwards again. “Robin? Do I want to owe her a favour?”

“Uh...” Robin said, stammering as he was put on the spot. “Well, she wouldn’t abuse it, I think? And she never did anything to anyone who didn’t have it coming.”

“The more I hear, the more I never want to know about what the three of you get up to when you run off,” Steve said. “Alright, deal. A favour for a favour.” He held his hand out to Lyanna.

The serving girl hesitated for only a moment, but reached out and shook his hand. Not in the Westerosi style either, but matching Steve’s manner. “Deal.” She stepped back, returning to her work. “What do ya want in the records room, anyway?”

“We want to take a look at the joust sign ups,” Steve said, keeping it vague.

“How come?” Lyanna pressed.

If Steve had to guess, she was just trying to satisfy her curiosity.

“Gotta make sure a noble gets what they have coming to them,” Robin said. “The signups are part of it.”

“I know where those are,” Lyanna said. “Good thing y’asked me. They’re buried a bit.”

“Good thing Robin and Toby have such a good friend,” Steve said.

“He’s lucky he’s cute,” Lyanna said.

“Oi,” Robin said, unsure if he was being insulted or not.

“Meet me on the second level of Kingspyre in an hour,” Lyanna said.

X

An hour later found Steve loitering in a corridor in the Kingspyre Tower, trying not to be recognised. Hunching over, affecting a limp, and wearing a strange hat to hide his hair, he had overheard no less than five conversations about the melee. A pair of nobles he had passed by had thought it strange that he had seemingly disappeared afterwards rather than begin celebrating.

He heard a faint brush of a footstep behind him, and he turned in time to catch Lyanna sneaking up on him, almost within arms reach. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Nice hat,” Lyanna said, as if she hadn’t just been caught.

“Thanks,” Steve said, straightening to his full height. “I think it makes me look cunning.”

“The records are round the corner on the left,” Lyanna said. “It’s mealtime for the scribes and Maesters, so should be clear.”

Steve checked his pockets for his equipment. A lemon, a small fruit knife with a razor’s edge, a quill and a pot of ink. He had everything he needed. “Lead the way.”

Fearlessly, Lyanna led him down the hall and to their destination, their path lit by flickering torchlight. She opened the door like she had every right to be there, and they stepped into a room lit by oil lamps and filled with parchment. There was a table in the centre of the room, mostly tidy save a few documents, but arrayed around it were rows of shelves up to the walls, all groaning under the weight of scrolls.

“Over here,” Lyanna said, heading unerringly for a shelf on the far side of the room, tucked away amidst the rows. “These ones are the joust sign ons,” she said, indicating a section of a few dozen scrolls. “Dunno which one. I’ll keep a lookout; if ya hear a knock, someone’s comin’ in.”

Steve watched as she darted off, back towards the entrance. He glanced at the section she had indicated, and then around at the room as a whole. Well, it could have been worse.

Scroll by scroll, Steve unfurled them carefully and scanned them for Keladry’s name. As he steadily made his way through, he realised just how difficult this task would have been if not for Robin and Toby’s connection with Lyanna. At the very least, they would have had to bribe someone involved and hope that they would be amenable.

Finally, his eyes caught on a name - Kedry Delnaimn of the Vale. If only he’d gone with her to register her name, a lot of this could have been avoided. Carefully, he placed the scroll on the floor, weighing down its edges with bits and bobs, and got to work. He cut the lemon open, and carefully smeared its juice over the ink that could have caused them so much trouble. Sharp eyes watched as it settled into the ink, and when he judged it right, he began to scrape away at it with the very tip of the fruit knife. When the last came free, he took up the quill, and carefully wrote Keladry’s name, using the same flourish she had in the example back in their rooms.

Gently, he blew on the altered line, considering it. Nothing looked out of place. If he hadn’t just done it himself, or had a thorough education in the manipulation of written records, he would have assumed it had always been that way. After giving it time to set, he rolled the scroll back up, and placed it with its fellows. Nothing was left behind, no trace of his presence remained. Now, all that was left to do was make his escape.

It was as he reached the door that someone knocked on it from the other side. Remembering Lyanna’s warning, he looked for cover. There was none close enough. The handle on the door began to turn.

A man in maester’s robes stepped through, crumbs on his robe and his nose buried in a book. He approached the table in the centre of the room, where he was promptly distracted by his work.

Above the door, Steve perched, one boot on the top of the shelves to each side of it. He strained his ears, listening for movement, but there was nothing save the creak of the door as it began to close. Silently, he dropped and made his exit, falling back into his stooped shuffle. He’d had closer calls.

X

The afternoon sun shone down as Steve met with his companions to plan their next move in a corner of the Flowstone Yard. They had discarded their nicer clothes, those that Steve had provided for them, and were doing their best not to draw attention. Not a single white star was to be seen.

“We found ‘is quarters,” Toby said. “In the Wailing Tower with the other little lords.”

“He’s in the Hall of Hearths right now, so the way is clear,” Robin said. “I asked around, and he’s spent most afternoons there through the tourney, only leaving for a bit before the feasts, before returning.”

“Good work boys,” Steve said. “Where’s Naerys?”

“Back to the suite,” Keladry said. “She was recognised a time or two, and queried about you.”

“Anything we need to worry about?” Steve asked.

Keladry shook her head. “Just enthusiasm for the victor. It’s being marked down to your foreign ways, to disappear so. You are expected to make an appearance at some stage, however,” she warned.

“We can use this,” Steve said. “I bet I’d get a lot of attention if I made a scene in the hall after being missing for half the day.”

“It does seem ripe for a dramatic entrance,” Keladry said.

“You calling me a drama queen, Delnaimn?” Steve asked.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Ser,” Keladry said, expression as collected as it always was.

“Uh huh,” Steve said. “Enough chit chat. Let’s get this evidence where it needs to be.”

The four of them made their way to the Wailing Tower without incident, although they separated somewhat to lessen the risk of being recognised. The tower itself was near deserted, the landed knights and lower nobles whose accommodation it was being more interested in making the most of the tournament than burning daylight inside.

The door to Kyllan’s room was locked, but before Steve could start to pick it, Robin produced a key.

Robin flushed at the looks he got from Steve and Keladry. “The servants don’t like him either. I just have to give it back before dinner.”

Steve shook his head. Some people never realised that you shouldn’t piss off the ones who prepared your food or cleaned your rooms.

The room was fairly spartan, and much simpler than the suite he had been afforded. A single chamber, a bed on one side and a desk on the other. A candlestick on the desk was lit with a match Steve found beside it, providing some light. They all shuffled in, closing the door behind them.

Save for a quill and ink, the desk itself was clear, as was the single drawer in it. A brief look over the room revealed not a hint of parchment or other writings.

“If I were a blackmailing son of a bitch, where would I hide my paperwork,” Steve said to himself.

Toby went to the bed, and peered under it. “Not here, so I dunno.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have any?” Robin asked.

“The inkpot is half full, and the quill has been used,” Keladry said. “It is strange that there is no parchment to be seen at all.”

The room was small, so there weren’t many places to hide things. Keladry inspected the desk, while Robin and Toby searched through the mattress and bedframe. Steve caught his eye on a chest at the end of the bed, and approached it.

It was a simple lockbox, sized for traveling. The lock on it was better quality than the door, but still not enough to keep him out. It was the work of a few moments with the thin bits of metal he’d got his hands on earlier to pop it open. Inside was what one would expect, clothes, a pouch of silver, a dagger, and a familiar emerald ring. Something about the ring was off to Steve’s eyes, and closer inspection revealed it to not be the one he had seen on Kyllan’s hand earlier, but a copy, bearing glass instead of a gem, and of brass instead of gold. Interesting, but not what he was looking for. There was no sign of any documents.

“Any luck?” Steve asked. A chorus of “no’s” answered him.

Steve considered the chest for a moment. It was a blocky thing, sparsely adorned. The sides were thick, perhaps thicker than they needed to be...he began to run his fingertips along the outside, searching for something.

His instinct was rewarded when he found a seam, and with a little more fiddling a compartment was revealed, folding out at an angle. Inside the cunning hiding spot were a few sheafs of parchment, and he retrieved them.

“That’s a better spot than under the bed,” Robin said, as Steve placed the papers on the table under the candlelight.

Steve sat at the table, and the others gathered around as he began to read, although only Keladry seemed to follow along.

“You two can read, right?” Steve asked the boys as he skimmed an uninteresting reply to some lord about grazing rights.

Toby pulled a face. “Kel’s been teaching me a bit.”

“I know my numbers,” Robin said.

“We’ll add that after the self defence lesson then,” Steve said. They began to protest, but he cut them off. “Naerys taught me to read, so she can teach you too.” Ignoring the grumbles, he kept reading, taking in Kyllan’s habits and flourishes. He went to discard another letter about ownership of a bridge.

“Stop,” Keladry said. “May I have that?”

“This one?” Steve asked, holding it up.

“Yes, thank you,” Keladry said, taking the letter and reading it intently.

Steve glanced at Toby, but he shrugged, so he continued on, flicking through what correspondence Kyllan had wanted to keep hidden. Most of it was truly mundane, although there was occasional mention of something Steve imagined others would have found interesting, such as who was considering approaching whom about a betrothal.

“Huh,” he said, as he read through another. “Turns out the bookies are a bit shirty with me.”

“What’s this?” Robin asked.

“Apparently I’m bad for business, and they’re at risk of minimal profits because Naerys took them to the cleaners,” Steve said.

“That’d be why they refused to take bets on you today,” Robin said. “They wouldn’t take Naerys’ money or Lord Vaith’s.”

“That’s good though, right?” Robin asked. “We can make it look like Stoneford was playing both sides.”

“I don’t think we need to do as much forging as I thought,” Steve said. “They’ve agreed to his offer to help them ‘recoup their losses through alternative means’ if they back him.”

“Isn’t that proof anyway?” Toby asked.

“Too vague,” Steve said, putting the letters aside and laying a blank parchment on the table. “They don’t mention what the ‘alternative means’ are and the only link to me is being mentioned in the same letter. They’d wriggle out of it.” He inked the quill and began to write.

“So what’re you going to write?” Robin asked.

“Kyllan is going to offer his services to help ensure the melee ends in a way that is profitable to everyone involved,” Steve said.

Voices echoed down the hall outside, and the four of them fell silent. The footsteps of a small group grew louder as they approached, but they seemed to pass by without pause, continuing on their way. Someone let out a relieved sigh.

“Is that not just more vagueness?” Keladry asked.

“Yeah,” Steve said, “but it’s easier to explain away one comment like that than a pile of them. When we confront him, I’ll bet you he accuses you in response, and if he has a letter in his quarters talking about interfering with the maester’s records of the joust to manufacture blackmail…”

“Weren’t we the only ones to interfere with the maester’s records?” Robin asked.

“I changed the master list, but any copies or other paperwork will still read ‘Kedry’,” Steve said. He took a moment to sharpen the quill, before continuing to write. “What a shame for Kyllan that he’s just admitted to having the mistake inserted into the paper chain for his own ends.”

“This’s some real big brain stuff,” Toby said, sounding reluctantly impressed. “Where’d you learn it?”

“Back home, the only people who could go toe to toe with me were my friends,” Steve said. “Mostly, anyway. That just meant that they tried to come at me sideways, so I had to learn how to deal with them.” He thought of leave time spent with Natasha learning to talk circles around people without them realising, and of hectic days following Tony around as he gave him the crash course on how money talked in the new century.

Keladry winced as she watched him put the finishing touch on the letter. “... ‘if he does not fall when he is told to, there is still another angle through which we can recoup our losses’. I don’t believe I’ve read a more subtly damning letter.”

“You have to enjoy yourself where you can,” Steve said. He inspected the forgery, blowing on the ink. “I’m already sick and tired of quills.”

“What did you use in your homeland?” Keladry asked, stepping back as Steve rose from the table.

“Uh, basically a quill but made of metal so you don’t need to keep sharpening it,” Steve said. “You could get them with an internal reservoir of ink, so you don’t have to dip them either.” He gave the letter one last look over, before placing it and all the other documents back where he found them, closing the hidden compartment with a soft click.

“We done then?” Toby asked.

Steve gave the room a look over, making sure all was as they’d found it. “We’re done. No one sees anything out of place?” Heads were shaken. “Good. Robin, get the candles.”

Quickly, they left Kyllan’s room behind, their skulking done with not a soul wise to their deed. All that was left now was the closing act.

X

Curious eyes and discerning gazes followed them as they approached the entrance to the Hall of One Hundred Hearths. In their fine clothes they made for a striking appearance, the five of them each wearing a white star proudly upon their chests. Like an arrow they cut their way through what crowds there were, Steve leading, Naerys to his left in a flowing dress and Keladry to his right in trousers and tunic. Robin and Toby brought up the sides. They walked with a purpose, and more than a few that they passed trailed after them, interest piqued.

There were side doors to the Hall that many used to slip in and out without fuss while the main doors were closed, but Steve ignored them. Boldly, he approached the heavy doors and placed a hand on each one. With a flex, he threw them open, doing the work of four men with ease. They groaned as they shifted, before colliding with the walls with a heavy thud and drawing many an eye. It was like a ripple that spread through the hall, as those not absorbed by their cups or too far away turned to see this latest spectacle.

For a moment, Steve paused, surveying all before him. Even before the evening feast, there was a sizeable crowd taking advantage of the generosity of the Whents. More than enough for his purposes. He strode down the centre of the Hall, towards where he had sighted his target. It wasn’t far away; Kyllan Stoneford being lord of minor lands at best saw him seated far from the high table. The man in question saw him approaching with intent and stilled, saying something to one of his companions.

“Kyllan Stoneford,” Steve said, parade voice ringing out above the chatter of the hall. “I told you I wouldn’t bow to your threats. I gave you a chance to own up to your churlish behaviour, but you came back again with false blackmail and greed for my hard won coin.”

Murmurs spread amongst those listening.

“That’s a serious accusation, America,” Kyllan said, sneering. “Are you sure you wish to make it?”

“I’m dead sure pal,” Steve said. “What are you gonna do? Make up some lies about me? Spread a few rumours cause I didn’t bark when you told me to?”

Hesitation crossed Kyllan’s face, but only for a moment. Standing, he swept his arms out, gesturing for the growing crowd. “The so-called Lord America is nothing but a scoundrel and a deceiver! He brings shame to the institution of knighthood and nobility. His second is a mere woman who participated in the joust under false pretences. With such a shroud of lies about him, how can we take him at his word for anything he might claim?” He pointed dramatically at Steve. “What do you say to that?”

“I say you’re a no good punk, a two bit bully who never had any discipline growing up,” Steve said. “I say you’re a liar and a coward, a little dog yapping for scraps, and if we weren’t both guests here I’d break you over my knee.” He paused, as if something just occurred to him. “Nah, you’re not worth my time. I’d have my seneschal break you over her knee.”

The Valeman’s face purpled with rage and humiliation, taking a step towards Steve. “You dare-”

“You’re goddamn right I dare,” Steve said, matching him. “If you didn’t want to be called out like a punk, you shouldn’t have acted like a punk.”

Kyllan looked ready to lunge at him, but he was restrained by a hand on his shoulder from one of the men he had been sitting with. A blond man whispered in his ear, one eye on Steve.

“What is the meaning of this?” A new voice cut through the spectacle, stepping out from those who had gathered to watch.

Steve turned to face Lord Whent. Unlike earlier in the day, there was no joviality to him, expression hard as he took in the scene.

“This ‘Lord’ Kyllan tried to blackmail me for my winnings after the melee,” Steve said. “He has treated this tournament as little more than a merchant’s venture to make money!” He wore an outraged expression, but internally he was laughing. He’d have to thank Tony for pushing him and Thor into that dramatic speaking workshop.

“That is a serious accusation,” Lord Whent said. He turned to Kyllan. “What do you say to that?”

Kyllan got himself under control, shrugging off his companion’s hand. “I deny it! He has the temerity to stand beside a woman dressing and fighting as a man, and accuse me of ill deeds. Not only that, but one who lied to enter the joust under false pretences! Strip her, and all will see the truth.”

An ugly mood swept through the crowd that had continued to build. Even those who were too good to gather around and rubberneck seemed to be straining to listen.

Steve’s gaze went flat. “You are fortunate I am a man of restraint, Stoneford, or I would kill you where you stand.”

“He threatens me because he fears the truth coming out,” Kyllan said, a look of triumph on his face.

“You try to shake me down for twenty thousand gold dragons, and you try to paint yourself as the victim?” Steve said, scoffing.

A muscle in Kyllan’s jaw ticked, as he visibly held his tongue.

Steve smirked at him.

“Lord Stoneford has accused you in turn,” Lord Whent said. “How do you answer?”

“I say check the records,” Steve said, waving a hand in dismissal. “Keladry has never been anything but honest in signing up for the joust, and the six lances broken against Flint speak more truth than anything that has ever come out of your mouth, Stoneford.”

Lord Whent raised a hand, and a servant approached. He gave them directions briefly, and off they went at a quick pace. “I see tempers are high,” he said. “Perhaps we should take a step back as we wait for the records to be produced.”

“The less I have to look at this lying punk the better,” Steve said. “Lord Whent,” he said, giving the man a nod, before he strode away, companions following him. Pointedly, they walked past Kyllan and his group to take a seat further down the Hall.

“A promising start,” Naerys said.

“You think so?” Steve asked. All around, he could hear gossip spreading about the spectacle.

“Yes,” Naerys said. “He is on the backfoot and responding to you, rather than you answering his accusation and being questioned.”

“What happens next?” Keladry said.

“The discrepancy in the records should be noticed, and questioned. Then we accuse Kyllan of manipulating the records as part of his attempts to blackmail you, and demand that his quarters be searched,” Naerys said. She tapped a finger on her chin. “You may need to make a gesture that would cause Kyllan to think that allowing it to go through would help his case.”

“I’ve got half an idea,” Steve said.

With the attention of the lord of the castle on it, fetching the records did not take long. Steve was beckoned over by Lord Whent, as was Kyllan, and they met in roughly the middle of the Hall, their entourages following. The seating around them was somewhat more packed than anywhere else, and Steve caught sight of more than a few people who probably should have been sitting higher up or lower down.

“I find my interest in this matter rising,” Lord Whent said. He held a scroll in each hand, and at his back stood his brother, the Kingsguard. “I have here the master list of competitors, and on it the name of Keladry Delnaimn,” he said, raising one scroll. “But I also have here the daily schedule, and on it the name Kedry Delnaimn.”

“Stoneford must have been plotting this for a while, if he had someone alter the records then,” Steve said.

“Or your whore was simply lying from the start,” Kyllan said.

Steve smiled, without humour. “Call my sworn sword a whore again and I’ll shatter your jaw.”

“My lords!” Whent broke in, curtly. “I will have civility in my feasthall.”

“He couldn’t alter the original record, so he had all the subsequent ones changed,” Steve said. “I don’t imagine it would be a simple thing to do in your castle, Lord Whent.”

“It would not,” Whent said.

“Search his rooms,” Steve suggested. “A man with his fingers in as many pies as this one would have to keep a record of them somewhere.”

“As a guest, so far innocent of any crime, he is entitled to his privacy,” Whent said, glancing at the man.

Kyllan seemed to find his voice again after Steve’s threat. “I will not submit to the indignity when there is a much simpler way to prove my innocence here and now.”

“How about this then,” Steve said. He could almost smell victory. “You let Lord Whent’s men search your room, and if they find nothing, we’ll prove before everyone here that Keladry has a bigger cock than you.”

Titters rose around them, reminding them again that they had an audience.

Stoneford opened his mouth to respond, but hesitated, scowling. He glared searchingly at Steve, but didn’t seem to find what he was looking for. “Fine,” he said at last, begrudgingly. “But I will demand compensation for your lies.”

“Always grubbing for coin,” Steve said, voice carrying. “Might want to tell your men to look for secret compartments, Lord Whent. He seems like the type.”

Kyllan paled, but it was too late to take back his words.

“A fair deal,” Whent said. “A search will be conducted, and any evidence found will be presented here so all may be satisfied,” he said, running an eye over the spectators they had gathered.

“Very fair,” Steve said. “I appreciate the honesty and transparency with which this has been dealt with.” As he spoke, he noticed the blond man who had calmed Kyllan earlier leave his side.

“Yes,” Kyllan ground out. “Very fair.”

Each group made to separate as they waited, returning to their seats.

As they did, Steve leaned in to speak to the man who had attempted to bully him for simple coin. "This ends here. If you play any more games or threaten my retinue again, I'll fold you like a piece of parchment."

Kyllan stared after him in impotent fury, unable to do anything but take his seat.

It took slightly longer this time, but in time the servants and men-at-arms Whent had dispatched returned. In the hands of one was a familiar bundle of parchments, and Steve watched as they approached Lord Whent at the high table and spoke to him quietly. The lord’s face grew blanker the longer they spoke, even as he clenched his goblet with white knuckles. He spoke to the men-at-arms near him, and they saluted in the local fashion.

Steve turned to Kyllan, and raised his goblet to him. He received a hateful glare in return, one that turned to confusion when Steve nodded towards the men-at-arms that were striding down the Hall towards them. As they drew near, Lord Whent rose from his seat.

“Kyllan Stoneford!” he boomed, sending all conversation to a halt. “You have abused my hospitality and brought shame upon yourself under my roof. Begone from my castle, and never return.”

“The acoustics in here are really good,” Steve remarked, as they watched the two guards pull Kyllan from the table and force march him out of the Hall, deaf to his protests.

“That is a great weight off my shoulders,” Keladry said, letting out a breath.

“Hey, I told you, didn’t I?” Steve said. “Nothing to worry about.”

“An afternoon of work, and a man’s reputation is ruined,” Naerys mused. “I think this is the second time this has happened.”

“Give yourself some credit,” Steve said. “You’re at least half responsible for ruining those other three.”

“True,” Naerys said, smiling in a way that reminded him of Nat. “I think I’ll start selling their armour soon. Do you think a copper penny apiece is too much?”

“Halfpenny at most,” Robin said, “but sell each piece all lonesome-like.”

Further conversation was cut short by a servant approaching. “Lord Whent would like to speak with you, Ser Rogers,” the man said.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Steve said, and they made their way up to the high table.

“Lord America,” Whent said as they reached the dais. “I would like to apologise for the unpleasantness you suffered under my roof.”

The high table was mostly empty, the royal seats of honour still bare and those who would be entitled to the others not inclined to make an early appearance. Whent and his brother were seated, as was another lord Steve didn’t recognise, but that was it.

“There’s nothing to apologise for, Lord Whent,” Steve said. “It wasn’t your doing, and when you found out about it, you stepped up to fix it.”

Whent inclined his head. “I thank you for your kind words. Do you have any plans for the rest of the day, now that the trouble keeping you out of sight is dealt with?”

“I’ll track down the Starks, I think,” Steve said. “The youngest of them are around the age of my two boys, and I’ve gotten along well with Ned and Brandon.”

“As you say,” Whent said. “Enjoy the bounty of my Hall; I suspect any who would cause you trouble will be staying well clear after that display.”

Steve gave him a nod of respect and went on his way, returning to his seat. By happenstance, they were seated further along than they had that first unenjoyable night, but there were none who seemed to take exception to it. The Starks were nowhere to be seen just yet, but Steve was content to talk with his friends, discussing the tournament so far, and what they thought would happen in the joust finals tomorrow.

“Do you think you could find out anything about the men with Kyllan?” Steve asked of Naerys.

“I could ask around, but I don’t believe anyone would be in a hurry to admit to associating with him after that display,” she said, shaking her head.

As the afternoon fell into evening, the Hall began to fill further, and Steve’s keen ears heard much mention of the excitement that had occurred earlier, the nobles having a grand old time gossiping about the foolishness of Stoneford. Wild theories were thrown around, but only a few came close to the truth, and most were dismissed as flights of fancy.

Food more fit for dinner began to be served, and Steve laughed as Toby perked up at the sight. Rich meats, simmering gravies, huge pies and more were brought out, leaving the tables groaning under their weight. Steve grabbed a leg of lamb for himself before anyone else could, and began to make his way through it. The others took somewhat more conservative portions, the boys seemingly intent on trying a bite of everything they could lay their hands on.

The leg of lamb was half gone when Steve spied the four Stark siblings making their way along the Hall wall, and he raised an arm to them. Brandon caught sight of them, and wasted no time in leading his siblings over, sliding into an empty space across the table.

“We’ve been hearing some wild tales about you, Steve,” Brandon said. “You’ve got to tell me if they speak true.”

“Depends on the tale,” Steve said. “What have you heard?”

“Apparently you picked a fight in the middle of the Hall and broke a man’s jaw in ten different places for insulting your lady,” Brandon said, gesturing to Naerys as he began to fill a plate of his own.

“I heard you threw a man out through the doors because he tried to steal your winnings,” Benjen piped up.

“Not quite,” Steve said. “These all sound more exciting than what actually happened.”

“So you didn’t beat a man for saying women had no place holding a sword,” Lyanna said. She sounded disappointed.

“A Vale noble tried to blackmail me and threaten Keladry,” Steve said, nodding towards her. “I presented my case to Lord Whent and when the evidence supported me, he ejected him from the castle.”

“I thought your name was Kedry,” Lyanna said.

There was a pause. “You may have heard that name announced for the jousts,” Keladry said. “Part of the plot was presenting me as a liar by changing the maester’s records.”

“It must have been,” Lyanna said.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Brandon said.

“You’re right,” Steve said. “Keladry would have been jousting or busy every time we met. This is Keladry Delnaimn of the Vale. Kel, this is Brandon, Ned, Lyanna, and Benjen Stark.”

“A pleasure,” Keladry said, reaching across the table to give Brandon’s hand a firm clasp, while giving a nod to the others.

“Is Keladry not a woman’s name?” Brandon asked.

“It’s unisex,” Steve said.

“Ah,” Brandon said. “Well, I’m not one to throw stones over a name, given how many Brandons there have been in the North.”

“It was bold of this man to attempt to blackmail you in the feast hall,” Ned said.

“‘E was stupid, but not that stupid,” Toby said.

“Oh, he didn’t do it here, this is just where we confronted him,” Steve said. “He tried to pull one over me right after the melee.”

“Probably a good place to try it,” Brandon said. “I wouldn’t have been able to think straight enough to respond after Barristan rung my bell.”

Ned was frowning. “Why wait so long to confront him?”

Steve shared a glance with Naerys. “We had to set the scene, so to say,” he said.

“Make sure he had no more lies to spring on us,” Naerys said.

“It makes sense,” Brandon said, but there was a half smile on his face, and he busied himself with his food.

“I prefer the one where you had Lady Naerys challenge him to a duel,” Lyanna said.

“She could have taken him, sure,” Steve said. “But that would only prove who was the better fighter.”

“Do you know the sword?” Lyanna asked, leaning forward. Some loose ends of hair were in danger of falling into her plate.

“Not as such,” Naerys said. “Steve is teaching me how to defend myself, however.”

“Not the most commonly done thing,” Brandon said, although he didn’t seem invested in it.

“Did you want to get the lances again, brother?” Lyanna asked.

“Er, no, that’s quite alright,” Brandon said, ignoring the smirk on Ned’s face.

“Scared of our dear sister, brother?” Ned asked.

“Remind me who is doing whom a favour again?” Brandon asked.

They began squabbling, and Steve focused back on his lamb, grinning to himself. Robin and Toby were talking with Benjen, discussing the upcoming jousts, while Lyanna had started to interrogate Naerys about her training.

Eventually, Keladry intervened so Naerys could have the chance to finish her plate.

“Have you enjoyed the tournament so far?” Keladry asked Lyanna.

“It has been very exciting,” Lyanna said. A smile crossed her face as she remembered something or other. “So much has happened. I feel like we’ve been here for a year or more.”

“I know what you mean,” Keladry said. “I’ve enjoyed myself here, but I’m ready to move on.”

“You made quite a showing with the lance,” Lyanna said, as if just remembering. She inspected Keladry like one might a prize horse. “How do you practice?”

“On horseback,” Keladry said.

Lyanna snorted.

“I used a quintain when I could, a suspended target when I couldn’t,” Keladry said.

“Do you think a woman could joust well?”

Keladry’s smooth poker face took over. “I don’t see why not. The joust doesn’t come down to the biggest knight, but the most skilled.”

Lyanna brightened, and then it was Keladry’s turn to be unable to take a bite of food between answers.

Steve let the conversation wash over him, enjoying the atmosphere. Tension left him as he enjoyed the evening, the food, and the company. Their time at Harrenhal was coming to an end.