A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

Steve eyed the jousting grounds as he and his companions approached, the sun shining above them. Nestled between the southern castle wall of the enormous Harrenhal and the shore of the Gods Eye, the jousting grounds did not at first glance look to be all that impressive. That impression failed to hold as one grew closer, and it became clear just what it took to be so visible next to the mammoth walls of the castle from a distance.

Not just one tilting lane had been built, but five all told, all set in a large rectangular arena of hard packed dirt. Arranged in an ‘x’ pattern, Steve imagined that the centre lane would be for the more prestigious jousts, while the outer four would be used for the participants with less influence to their names.

Around the outside of the lists, tall wooden structures had been erected to serve as multi-level viewing platforms for those who wanted to see the greatest knights of the realm joust. Much of them were of middling comfort, but as the position of the stands became more desirable, so too did the quality of the seating. While what smallfolk that managed to attend might be forced to stand all day, at the centre of the stands looking out over the main tilting lane and the lake beyond, there stood an elevated pavilion where the highest lords of the land could enjoy themselves. The sigils of their Houses decorated the front of the stands, banners declaring to all and sundry the prestige of Martell, Tully, Baratheon, Stark, Tyrell, and Arryn.

Above them, alone on the highest level, sat a wooden throne, gilt in the red and black of the Targaryens. A shade cloth cast a shadow over it all, and upon it was the three headed dragon.

For now, much of the seating for the nobility was empty, their status removing the need to get in early for good seats, but the lower status stands were already bustling with activity.

“Do we know which lane Kedry is riding on?” Steve asked, as they waited for the mass of humanity around them to move on.

“Nor’east,” Toby said.

“That should be fairly close to the seating we’re entitled to use,” Naerys said.

“We’ll have a good view then,” Robin said. “Lord America is a respected noble, and a great warrior, you know,” he said, tongue in cheek.

Steve rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. Even on the walk from their tent to the jousting grounds he had seen more and more people taking notice of him, the six foot two blond man drawing attention even when dressed in fine clothes rather than his distinctive armour.

“I gotta go,” Toby announced suddenly. He had been bullied into wearing the same nice clothes he had worn to the feast, but that somehow only made him seem even more out of place with his often pugnacious expression. “See ye at the stands,” he said, before ducking under someone’s arm and vanishing into the crowd.

“We can probably trust him to be responsible on his own,” Steve said after a long moment. “Right?”

There was a long pause.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Naerys said.

“Maybe don’t tell Kedry,” Robin said.

“Thanks, guys,” Steve said. “Real reassuring.”

It took a short while, but in time they reached their goal, and found the second level seating area empty. It seemed that most nobles liked to get their beauty sleep, as they had pick of the padded benches, and they quickly made themselves comfortable in the front row. While not front and centre to the lists, they had a decent view of them all, with the south western lane being the furthest away.

Much like at the feast, the stands they chose to sit in were maybe halfway up the social ladder. Something told him that they wouldn’t be having any trouble with rude neighbours this time round. The chairs they had claimed for themselves were cushioned, and Steve was reminded of the box seats at the odd sporting match Tony had conjured tickets to, if somewhat more medieval. Robin and Naerys took the seats on his left and right, a seat to Robin’s left saved for Toby.

This early in the day, the central lane was empty, and the outer four were host only to wandering knights and the most minor of nobles. As Steve watched, two men collided with a terrific crash, lances splintering to the cheers of the crowd. Neither man fell, and the two knights trotted back to ready themselves for another pass.

“How does all this work, anyway?” Steve asked.

“I think you have to knock the other guy off his horse with your stick,” Robin said.

Steve rolled his eyes. Ever since he’d gotten over Steve’s apparent nobility, the kid had proved to have a fair bit of cheek to him. That might have been Steve’s fault though. “That’s good to know; I wouldn’t have figured that out for myself,” he said.

Naerys sighed at both of them. “The goal is to unhorse your opponent. Points are also earned by breaking your lance on the opponent’s shield. First to three breaks is also a victory.”

“What happens if they break their third lances on the same charge?” Steve asked.

“They continue until one is unhorsed or gains a point advantage,” Naerys said. Her features brightened. “At a tournament held at Storm’s End, the Prince and Ser Dayne broke twelve lances against each other!”

“That’s something then?” Steve asked.

“It’s unheard of,” Naerys said.

“The Prince won that, didn’t he?” Robin asked.

“He did,” Naerys said. “And he’s a favourite to win here, too.”

“What does a victory look like?” Steve asked. “Last man standing?”

“Basically,” Naerys said. “But the road is longer for some than for others. A hedge knight will have to prove themselves against their fellow before being matched up against a knight with more renown, or one of the champions.”

“Champions being winners of a previous tourney?” Steve asked.

Naerys shook her head. “Champions of the Queen of Love and Beauty. Right now, that’s Lord Whent’s daughter, and her brothers are her champions. Should one of them win the day, they will have defended her crown, but should someone else, he will crown a new Queen.”

“Sounds like an extra bit of fun,” Steve said.

“It can be quite the romantic gesture,” Naerys said. “Or so I am told.”

Robin snickered, but said nothing.

The two knights collided with a crash once more, and one was sent flying, sending up a cloud of dust as he hit the ground to the cheers of the crowd.

Steve winced. “That looks like it hurt. You’d think he’d try to control his fall more.”

“I don’t think many can,” Robin said. “The fall is supposed to be one of the most dangerous parts. You know, after the collision.”

He might not have much experience on a horse, but Steve considered the numerous bikes, trucks, and planes he’d had to bail out of over the years. He figured he could manage a fall that didn’t risk broken bones. Pity jousts didn’t award points for the dismount.

The fallen knight was helped from the field as the victor raised his broken lance to the crowd, even as two other lanes saw a pair of knights form up on them.

Several more tilts were run and a few more knights unhorsed, before Toby made his reappearance, sidling past the few other nobles that had entered the stand and sliding into the seat they had saved for him.

“So?” Robin asked, nudging Toby. “How’d your thing go?”

“What thing?” Toby asked.

“The thing you took off to take care of,” Robin said.

“Was just lookin’ round,” Toby said, eyes glued to the jousting, and away from Steve’s raised eyebrow.

There was a brief silence that spoke volumes that Toby stubbornly ignored.

“Did you find out when Kedry is scheduled?” Naerys asked.

“Mid morn,” Toby answered immediately.

“Didn’t he want to be alone before his jousts?” Robin asked.

“I didn’t bother him none,” Toby said. “Saw the matches written up all official like.”

“He doesn’t need someone to squire for him?” Steve asked, watching as another knight was helped from the field by what was presumably their squire.

“Nah Ked’s used to doing it all himself,” Toby said, unconcerned. “All that time on the road, y’know.”

“Fair enough,” Steve said. Then he frowned, eyeing the knight who had just taken the field. “Isn’t that Stokeworth?”

“That’s his sigil,” Robin said, scowling. Then he smirked. “I don’t know what you said to Lady Dayne, but she wasn’t shy about telling people what she thought of those three.”

“Even the Princess’ people were in on it,” Naerys said, failing to hide a satisfied smile.

“Well, they brought it upon themselves,” Steve said.

“Still are. His House ought to see him joust much later in the day than this,” Naerys said.

“Here’s hoping Stokeworth gets sent flying,” Robin said.

Stokeworth and his opponent, a hedge knight by the look of his armour, were jousting on the south east lane, neither the closest nor the farthest. They watched as the two competitors took their places, some with more malicious anticipation than others.

A herald stepped up to the dividing rail, flag raised, and looked to both knights. They signalled their readiness, and the flag came down. Muscles bunched and exploded, hooves kicking up dirt - but only for one horse.

Stokeworth’s horse, despite the armoured heels being kicked into its flanks, would only exert itself to a canter, and the knights collided only a quarter of the way out from Stokeworth’s starting position. The collision sent him reeling, but somehow he managed to remain on his horse.

There were some jeers from those nearest to the lane, but the crowd at large had missed the details. Robin crowed at the display, and Naerys let out a laugh, even as the knights reset for another tilt. Steve could hear Stokeworth swearing at his horse.

Again the herald stepped up, flag raised, and gave the signal to start. Again the hedge knight charged forward, energised by the previous tilt. This time, however, Stokeworth’s horse refused to so much as take a step forward, no matter how hard the knight jabbed his heels into its flanks. At the last moment, the man braced himself as best he could, and was again sent reeling.

To be charitable, Stokeworth at least remained on his horse once more, even if he was swaying like a drunkard in the saddle. Neither Steve nor the crowd were feeling charitable however, and the masses felt no hesitation in letting the man know what they thought of a knight who couldn’t even get his horse to charge.

The herald approached Stokeworth, but was waved off with a curse. The wave came down to slap his horse aside its head, causing the beast to toss and snort.

“Fucker,” Toby muttered to himself, eyes fixed on the spectacle.

“He can’t stay ahorse for another, surely,” Naerys said.

The third tilt loomed, the herald once more approaching the dividing rail with his flag. The hedge knight was set and ready, but Stokeworth was having trouble.

“I don’t think we’ll see,” Steve said, leaning forwards.

The unruly horse, an impressive black animal, had apparently had enough of Stokeworth’s forceful exhortations, eyes rolling back in its head as it got the bit between its teeth and let out a whinnying scream. It reared back, hooves kicking at the sky, again screaming its defiance. Stokeworth came tumbling off, landing in the dirt with a thud and to the laughter of the crowd already half drunk with cheap ale.

Free from its burden, the horse broke into a run, heading straight for the exit to the lists that it had been led in from. Leaping the gates easily, it disappeared into the restricted preparation area, knights and squires hurriedly clearing the way.

Stokeworth himself was getting to his feet slowly, pushing away the offered hand of a squire. He stormed from the field as best he could, limping all the way and chased by the taunts of the crowd.

Naerys smiled serenely, content that all was well with the world. Robin had less restraint, pointing and laughing, while Toby had a vindictive smirk on his face.

“Did you see that!” Robin said. “He’ll never live that down.”

“Couldn’t happen to a more deserving person,” Naerys said.

Steve felt the stirrings of intrigue at the behaviour of the horse. “Is it normal to see a horse turn on its owner like that?”

“I would say not,” Naerys said.

“He didn’t seem like the kindest rider,” Robin said. “Maybe the horse had had enough?”

“Them like that get what they deserve,” Toby said, looking down at the field. “He’d prolly had enough of the whip.”

Steve gave Toby a look from the corner of his eye, the faintest of suspicions stirring within him. He shook his head, dismissing them. “Well, what goes around comes around, and I’d say Stokeworth had it coming. Hopefully the horse is ok.”

“With luck a kinder master will find him, or at least Stokeworth will fail to recapture him,” Naerys said. “I don’t imagine the tack and bridle were all that cheap.”

“His armour too,” Robin said. “It’s that hedge knight’s lucky day.”

“Huh,” Steve said. “That’s three for three.”

“How so?” Naerys asked.

“Hayford, Longwaters, and Stokeworth all lost a fair chunk of change,” Steve said.

“Maybe the hedge knight will hold on to Stokeworth’s armour too,” Robin said. “That’d be a shame. A real damn shame.”

“Maybe we could buy it off him, and sell it piece by piece like the others,” Steve suggested, only half serious.

“Probably not worth the effort,” Naerys said. She smiled, beatific. “I’ll have to settle for just seeing them all thoroughly trounced.”

“How difficult for you,” Steve said.

“I will persevere,” Naerys said with a sigh.

All told, Steve felt pretty satisfied with how things had turned out with the three men who had been so rude at the feast. If they got the message, that’d be the end of it. If they didn’t though...well, he’d burn that bridge when they got to it.

X

“Do you suppose they have concession stands here?” Steve asked.

“Concession stands?” Naerys asked. “I’m not familiar with the term.”

“Like a place for food vendors to set up and sell their wares to the crowd,” Steve explained.

“There’s ale for the crowd for coppers, and the nobles usually just summon a servant,” Robin said. “I hung about what tourneys I could back in King’s Landing.”

The stand they had chosen had filled up by now, every seat occupied by some noble or another. Not that Steve could recognise any of the sigils they wore; even a discreet question to Naerys had only received a shrug.

“I could go for a kilo of wings,” Steve said, suddenly homesick for a time he had never felt all that at home in.

“‘A kilo of wings’?” Naerys asked.

“Chicken wings, spiced and grilled,” Steve said. “Finger food back home for sporting events like these.”

“You ‘ad jousts an’ the like back home?” Toby asked. He had been quieter than usual since the events of the morning, but his curiosity seemed to have gotten the better of him.

“No, our events were a bit different,” Steve said. “We had games like baseball, soccer, football, basketball - people would turn out in force to support their local team.”

“What were they like?” Robin said, interested.

“They were all pretty different, but the goal was to get more points than the other team,” Steve said. “Usually by doing something involving some kind of ball, like getting it through a hoop, or into a net, or over a line, or hitting it really far.”

“You could show us some time,” Naerys said, offering without pressure.

Steve rubbed at his chin. “Getting what we’d need to play would be easy enough. We’d need more people for a proper game though, whatever we played.”

“Something to consider after the tournament, when you have your thousands of dragons to throw around,” Naerys said, teasing.

“Maybe I’ll make my own stadium, and introduce baseball to Westeros,” Steve said. “Wings and corndogs for all.”

Robin shot him a look. “Corndogs aren’t like, actual dogs ar-”

“Look, ‘s Kedry!” Toby said, pointing excitedly.

Sure enough, through the gates to the field came Kedry, a font of calm and poise seated atop Redbloom. The strawberry roan warhorse was giving Kedry’s competitor a look that suggested he might like to get the bout started right then and there, but Kedry twitched his reins and persuaded him otherwise. At the herald’s guidance, they followed the path at the edge of the field until they reached the north eastern tilting lane, closest to Steve and the others.

Kedry’s brand new half plate gleamed in the mid-morning sun, polished beyond even how it had looked when they purchased it. It was basic armour, lacking any sort of House colours or insignia, but clearly well looked after. Kedry’s opponent, by contrast, was wearing full plate, and while their armour was not uncared for, it was not near on shining as Kedry’s was. Steve didn’t recognise the colours the man was wearing, but it seemed like they were moving on from the hedge knight bouts and into that of the minor nobility. He figured Kedry had just squeezed in, or maybe just looked fancy enough to be seen with them.

“Kick his arse Kedry!” Toby shouted, uncaring of the looks he got from the rest of the stand, some indulgent and some less so.

Steve thought he might have seen Kedry twitch ever so slightly at Toby’s shout, as he took his place at the end of the lane, but he might have been imagining things.

Redbloom stamped at the earth as the herald approached the rail, checking for their readiness. There was a moment, the flag rose and fell, and then the horses charged.

Even to Steve’s inexperienced eyes, there were clear differences between the two jousters. It’s not that the noble was a poor rider, or held their lance poorly, because they didn’t. Their horse wasn’t faltering, or slower. They weren’t unsure in the saddle. There was nothing about their form that would make one look down at them.

It was just that Kedry looked more machine than man as they levelled their lance with extreme precision, or like a centaur as he moved with Redbloom’s explosive gait, his entire being bent upon his opponent’s shield. In the instant before impact, Steve’s keen eyes caught Kedry shift in his saddle, putting more of his shoulder behind his lance as he leaned forward the barest amount.

The now familiar crash came again as both lances splintered, but that was not what the crowd cheered. Kedry had powered through, almost looking as if he hadn’t just taken a lance to the shield, but his opponent had been neatly popped from the saddle, pushed up and off before he knew what had happened.

Toby let out a wordless cry, even as Robin whooped and Naerys applauded with good cheer. Steve put his fingers to his lips and gave a piercing whistle, adding to the furor of the crowd from the otherwise somewhat staid seats.

Kedry reined Redbloom in, circling back around to check on his fallen foe. The man was slowly rolling to his feet, and after a moment, rose to clasp forearms with Kedry. They cleared the lane for the next joust shortly after, Kedry with visibly more vigor, although that might’ve just been Redbloom, happy to have worked off some energy.

“I’m gonna go see ‘im,” Toby said, already half out of his seat.

“Are you su--and he’s gone,” Steve said. He glanced at his remaining companions. “It wasn’t just me, right? Kedry is pretty good at this.”

“He did seem to stand out above most of the jousters we’ve seen so far,” Naerys said, worrying at her bottom lip.

“He knocked that other fellow off his horse pretty quickly,” Robin said.

“I have it on good authority that that’s the aim of the game,” Steve said.

“Yeah, who told you?” Robin asked. “They sound pretty smart.”

“Some punk kid,” Steve said. He was distracted from further banter by the arrival of the next knight onto the field. “Hey, that’s some pretty distinctive armour.”

It wasn’t so much the rather ordinary armour itself that stood out, but more the streaks of blue paint that had been applied to it in intricate patterns. There was a scrap of green and black fabric tied to his arm, and the man’s horse was likewise anointed, but with different markings. Steve would put money on there being some meaning or language to them. The beast itself wasn’t quite comparable to warhorses like Fury or Redbloom, but the paint gave it a presence. It reminded Steve of woad dye from back home.

“That’s one way of saying it,” Robin said, likewise distracted.

“He looks like something out of a story,” Naerys said.

“The barbarian hero?” Steve asked.

“The savage raider, more like,” Naerys said. “In the South, at least. Ten silvers says he’s a Northerner.”

“He’s a Flint,” a voice said from behind them.

Steve turned to see the speaker, and found an older man sitting in the row behind them. “You know him?” he asked.

“Never met him before in my life,” the old man said. His hair was white, but still thick, and his clothes were light and thin, looking more like summer wear than the spring they were in. “But those markings are First Men battle boasts. Flints are the only ones who still wear them, really.”

“What do they mean?” Robin asked.

“I’m not all that knowledgeable on them,” the old man said, “but the ones on his horse mean that he stole it from a rival without having to kill him, and that one on his upper chest means he survived a great wound.”

“Impressive,” Naerys said.

“We Northerners don’t often compete in these tourneys,” the man said, “and rarer still a proper First Man like that. I’d wager he has an interesting story behind him.”

The Flint and his opponent were set and ready by this stage, and they turned back to the front to watch. The herald gave them the signal to charge, and the painted horse reared back briefly, before stampeding forward. The knights charged down the lane, meeting each other halfway. Both men landed their blows, but it was Flint who was the more ferocious, and his opponent was knocked clean from his saddle.

“Haha yes, that’s the way laddie, you show them the mettle of a Northerner,” the old man said to himself.

“He’ll be one to watch,” Steve said. He turned back to the old man. “Steve Rogers, Lord America.” He offered his hand.

The old man seemed surprised, but only for a moment. “Lord Alrik of Hornwood. Lord Hornwood is my nephew.”

“I’m afraid I’m not all that familiar with Westeros as a whole yet,” Steve said.

“Ah,” Alrik said, realisation in his eyes. “We’re sworn directly to the Starks, but that’s dry old talk. I’ve heard tales of your performance in the melee, Lord America.”

“I just did my best,” Steve said.

“Your best ruffled a few southern feathers,” Alrik said, grinning and revealing more than a few missing teeth.

“Maybe they needed ruffling then,” Steve said.

“They usually do,” Alrik said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go give that young northern lad a clap on the back.”

Alrik stood and left the stand, passing Toby as the kid returned.

“Kedry’s fine,” he reported, retaking his seat. “His next joust isn’t until the afternoon though.”

“That’s a ways off,” Robin said.

“I think I’ll keep watching,” Steve said. “How about you guys?”

“Same,” Toby said, chin propped up on his hand.

“I’ll stay too,” Naerys said.

Robin considered it for a moment, but shook his head. “Wouldn’t be able to get any decent practise in before Kedry is up again. I’ll stay here.”

“That’s that then,” Steve said. “Almost makes me wish for a deck of cards.”

“A what?” Robin asked.

“Oh, you don’t have those here?” Steve asked. “So, a deck of cards is…”

The day passed pleasantly as they talked amongst themselves, interrupted only by particularly impressive jousts and a quick request to a servant for food. It wasn’t quite Coney Island with Bucky, but Steve had a good time, with good friends.

X x X

Afternoon came, and Kedry took to the field again, once more an oasis of calm amidst the revelry of the day. His opponent was less composed, rising up in his saddle, lance raised to the crowd. The smallfolk rewarded him for it, cheering as he rode by. There were some cheers for Kedry too, perhaps those remembering the ease with which he had dispatched his previous foe. The two men made for their places at opposite ends of the tilting lane, again the one closest to Steve and his companions.

“Another noble,” Naerys said, quietly. “From the Reach, I think.”

“There’s still hedge knights competing in the other lanes,” Steve murmured back. “Maybe they want to avoid one sided bouts?”

Redbloom was pawing at the dirt, eager to be started, and Steve was reminded of their encounter with the bandits on the road to Harrenhal, and the way the horse had crushed the heads of the slain under those same hooves.

The opponent, a noble that Steve again had no way of recognising the colours of, finished playing to the crowd and settled into his saddle, lance coming down to point at Kedry. Kedry may as well have been a stone for his reaction, lance not even twitching in response.

The herald checked for their readiness, received it, and gave the signal to start with a slash of his flag.

Again, Kedry may as well have been a machine for the precision with which he brought his weapon down to level it at the other knight’s shield. He and Redbloom were as one, united in their desire to send the other guy flying into the dirt.

Lances shattered, but neither man was unhorsed, and they pulled their mounts around to reset for another charge. Neither looked rattled, but Steve could see Kedry flexing his shoulder.

The second tilt came, and the horses thundered down the lane again. This time Redbloom seemed even faster, and Steve swore he saw the roan destrier lean further into the charge at the last moment before impact.

The crowd roared as the knight was propelled from his mount, even as Kedry was knocked back in his saddle from the force of the blow.

Robin winced, even as he applauded. “That look like it hurt.”

“That’s nothin’,” Toby said. “Kedry could do this all day.”

Steve grinned at the remark, reminded of another scrappy blond kid. “He’s a lot better than I was expecting, if I’m being honest,” he said.

“Better than his opponents were expecting, too,” Naerys said, tone dry.

“Two people unhorsed though, that’s what, fifteen gold in ransom?” Steve asked. “Not bad for a day’s work.”

“Easily,” Naerys said. She gave him a sideways glance. “If only his armour bore the symbol of his patron.”

Kedry made his way off the field, again after sharing a handclasp with his fallen foe. The crowd seemed to like the good sportsmanship, at least, and so did Steve.

“New armour after the tournament then,” Steve said. “Proper armour. For everyone.”

“I’m not sure Robin has finished growing,” Naerys said.

“We can get him something that will work for now; he’s an archer first anyway,” Steve said. “And I said everyone.” He gave her a look.

Naerys grew flustered. “I’m not sure that would be a worthwhile investment.”

“I am,” Steve said. “You need to start training in armour anyway, you’ve more than picked up the basics well enough.”

“If you insist,” Naerys said.

“I do,” Steve said, grinning.

“‘Ere comes Flint again,” Toby said.

Sure enough, Flint was riding out onto the field once more, still bearing the blue markings on his armour and horse. He was riding on the north west lane this time, but they still had a decent enough view.

“He’s going to win again,” Robin said.

“Do you know the other rider?” Naerys asked.

“No, but look at him,” Robin said. “He doesn’t even want to look at -- look, he just made the sign of the Seven!”

“He can’t be afraid of him, surely,” Steve said.

“Maybe he’s heard a few too many stories about the savage northerners and their blood sacrifices in the sept?” Naerys asked.

Whatever stories he’d heard in the sept or elsewhere, they didn’t put him in good stead this day. Flint knocked him clean off his horse, despite his own respectable lance blow upon the Northerner. Flint remained firmly seated, even though he was rocked back in his saddle, and his helm came flying off. A bearded man with pale skin was revealed, brown hair left awry by the helm’s sudden departure.

“That’ll do it,” Steve said. “Sometimes stories are half the battle.”

“When’re we leavin’?” Toby asked. “Kedry was gonna head back to th’ tent after his bout.”

“Did anyone have their eye on any of the jousters left today?” Steve asked.

“It will be good to speak with Kedry about his jousts,” Naerys said.

Robin shook his head.

“We’ll call it a day then,” Steve said, getting to his feet.

“Kedry said he’d leave soonest, then get to the baths to beat the rush,” Toby said, as they made their way clear of the stands. “We should meet ‘im at the tent.”

“Lead the way then Toby,” Steve said. “You’re in charge.”

“Right I am,” Toby said, leading them through what crowds there were with the jousts still plugging along. The afternoon sun beat down upon them, and Steve figured there was still an hour or three before sunset.

It took them some time to leave the jousting fields behind, and make their way back along the castle wall to the south gates, but after they did there was only a short way to go to the tent village.

“I think I might head to the archery butts,” Steve said, as they made their way down the muddy tent lanes. “I imagine Kedry wants to take his time in the baths.”

“Yeah,” Toby said. “I can go tell ‘im not to hurry.” Toby took off, heading towards the stables in hopes of intercepting Kedry.

“Are you going to shoot?” Robin asked.

“I think I might,” Steve said.

“Are you going to use…?” Robin asked.

“I think I might,” Steve said again, grinning.

“I’ll get it all ready,” Robin said, running ahead.

“You are going to try out the metal bow then?” Naerys asked.

“I figure it’s past time,” Steve said. “Did you want to come along?”

“I think I will,” she decided.

“Might be handy to know the basics of how to shoot,” Steve said. “Unless you know already?”

“I can use a crossbow well enough,” Naerys said, “so long as I don’t have to reload it.”

“Maybe this will work better for you then,” Steve said. “We can start you on Wenda’s bow, from the Kingswood Brotherhood. It’s still in the wagon somewhere.”

They didn’t waste any time at the tent, only pausing to get the bows and give Dodger a scratch behind the ears and make sure he still had plenty of water in his bowl. He gave a low whuff as they left again, but remained to keep watch over the tent.

As they made their way towards the archery lanes in the Flowstone Yard between the castle towers, the metal bow got a few cursory looks, but nothing beyond that. In short order they had arrived and claimed three lanes for themselves, the place much emptier than the last time he had visited, what with the first day of the jousting still ongoing.

“Go ahead and practice Robin, I’m going to use you as an example for Naerys,” Steve said.

Robin hesitated, but only briefly. “Right.” He jabbed five arrows into the earth, and got to work.

“So, the most important thing is how to string a bow, because you don’t want to leave them strung when you’re not using them...” Steve began.

He ran Naerys through the same basics that Clint had done with him, way back in the early days of the Avengers. He told her about different ways to hold the string, how to make sure you didn’t nearly skin yourself with it, how to engage the right muscle groups to make the draw easier to handle. The bow he had taken from Wenda wasn’t the heaviest, but it would still be enough to leave Naerys’ arms and shoulders feeling sore after using it. It would be another good way to build her strength up.

“Now that the important stuff is out of the way, let’s try shooting an arrow,” Steve said.

“I always thought shooting the arrow was the most important part,” Naerys said, before she drew back on the string. She let out a harsh breath, taken by surprise by the difficulty of it.

“You’d think so,” Steve said, thinking back to what Clint had once told him. “But rushing ahead to shooting is just skipping past the foundation.” He eyed her for a long moment, seeing her arms tremble as she fought to hold the position. “Hold that for a moment longer; good. Now loose.”

The arrow shot down lane, veering to the side. It hit the hay target on the edge, just outside the painted circle.

“Good shot,” Steve said. “Well done.”

“I hardly hit the hay, let alone the target,” Naerys said.

“But you did hit it,” Steve said, “and that’s a start.”

Naerys smiled lightly. “It is.”

“Now do that five more times.”

She scowled at him, and Steve smiled, moving off to take up his own bow and give it a try.

“Not common ye see womenfolk bein’ taught to shoot,” a voice came. It was familiar.

Steve looked to his right, away from Naerys and Robin. There was a bald man there, having arrived and started shooting after they had arrived. He recognised him from the other day; it was Richard, the man who had been stitching House sigils in the target with arrows.

“Maybe it should be,” Steve said.

“Nay arguments from me, sonny,” Richard said. “Taught me daughter to shoot, I did.”

“How’d she go?” Steve asked.

“Oh, she’s a fair shot I’d say,” Richard said, a gleam in his eye. “Bow might be a little much for her. Where’d ye get it?”

“Picked it up on the road someplace,” Steve said, deliberately vague. He didn’t think having the bow of Wenda the White Faun would draw the wrong kind of attention, but there was no point in boasting of it. “Seemed a decent enough weapon.”

“Oh aye, it seems decent enough,” Richard said. “Suppose she’ll look after it then?”

“As much as anyone should take care of their equipment,” Steve said. He kept an easy smile on his face, but internally he was frowning. He thought this Richard fella seemed a little too interested in the bow. “You’re still preparing for the archery competition?”

“Boy, I was born ready,” Richard said. Then he coughed. “Well, close enough, if you take my drift.”

“You’ll forgive me if I cheer for my pal instead,” Steve said, nodding in Robin’s direction as he began to prepare his own bow for use. With a flex, he strung it, using the bowstring that was a mix of metal and fibre, all braided together.

Richard fell quiet, watching Steve nock an arrow and slowly draw the bow back. The draw was as heavy as Steve remembered, and he breathed deeply as he reached full draw, looking down the arrow to the target. He waited a heartbeat, then loosed.

There was a thrumming twang, and the arrow almost disappeared downrange. It did disappear when it hit the target, hardly slowed by the bale of hay and hitting the earthen wall behind it with a quiet thud.

“How about that,” Steve said.

“Fuckin’ hells,” Richard said. What few other people were making use of the butts were looking over too. “Where the fuck did you buy that thing?”

“It was made in King’s Landing by Mott and Longstride, a blacksmith and a bowyer,” Steve said. “You want to try it?”

Richard shook his head. “Think I’ll give it a miss, thank ye very much,” he said. “I saw the effort you put into it and I know how strong you are.”

“How’s that?” Steve said, cocking his head.

“I heard tales of your work in the melee sonny,” Richard said. “I need my shoulders in one piece for the competition.”

“Right,” Steve said. He picked up another arrow, and drew the bow again. Another deep breath, then loosed.

Again, the arrow buzzed downrange, piercing the haystack target with ease. There was a thunk as it went through this time.

“Did that hit the wooden target frame?” Steve said.

“Went through more like,” Richard said.

In quick succession, Steve loosed three more arrows, and all of them did much the same. Walking down the lane while people were still shooting went against his instincts, but Richard seemed more interested in inspecting the arrows with him and Naerys had fired all her arrows; Robin too.

As a group, they made their way down to the target, then past it. The earth wall was peppered here and there with past pockmarks where arrows had missed the target and then had to be dug out, but few of the marks were directly behind said targets.

“I think I can just see the fletching,” Robin said, pointing at the wall.

“I wonder what the upper range is,” Naerys said.

“Probably further than I can accurately hit,” Steve said. “So far, anyway.”

“Forget range,” Richard said, shaking his head. “That’s gonna ruin some poor knight’s day.” He broke out into a cackle. “Not ‘xactly one punch, but close enough.”

“Your father did some good work,” Steve said to Robin.

“If I left more arrows in the target than you Steve, does that make me a better archer?” Naerys asked, mock thoughtful.

“You know, technically, I think it might,” Steve said. “Why don’t you take another six shots and see if you can do it again?”

Naerys groaned, but began gathering her arrows. They still had a small while before heading back to congratulate Kedry, and Steve meant to make the most of it.

X x X

“Now, I know what yer thinkin’,” Toby said.

Steve stared at the kid, fighting the urge to rub his temple. “Run me through how this happened again.”

They stood behind their tent, the ruined sept off to one side. Kedry, in a clean tunic and hose, was there, as well as Naerys and Robin, fresh from the archery range. Dodger sat off to the side, watching.

Also with them was a black horse. A familiar black horse, one lacking the bridle and tack that Steve had seen it in earlier in the day, but familiar nonetheless.

“I saw ‘im over in the stables, wanderin’ around,” Toby began, “and I figure the stablemen didn’t know he was escaped, so they just put him in a stall and forgot about him.”

“So you took his gear off, brushed him down, and then brought him here,” Steve said. “And now you want to claim him as your own because you don’t like how Stokeworth was treating him. Is that right?”

“Right,” Toby said.

Steve tried to hold back a sigh. He failed, and sighed deeply. “Toby. Is there anything you want to tell me. Anything at all.”

“No?” Toby said.

“You’re sure.”

“Yes,” Toby said, more confidently.

“Right,” Steve said. “Dammit Ton-Toby.”

Toby fidgeted, and Kedry’s face was a blank mask, but Robin and Naerys just seemed bemused.

Steve gave in to the temptation to massage his temple. “We can’t just keep him, because if we were found out that would give Stokeworth the right to just take him back. Also, stealing is wrong,” he said, and Toby’s face fell.

“However.”

Toby looked back up, brightening.

“However,” Steve continued, “if you can find the hedge knight who unhorsed Stokeworth, and offer to buy the horse from him, and he says yes...then we can keep him.”

“Yessss,” Toby said.

“Grab say, five gold, from the stash, and go track this guy down,” Steve said.

“On it,” Toby said, already leaving. The black horse followed him unprompted, flicking Steve with his tail as he did so.

“We’re going to...put our things away,” Robin said, Naerys nodding beside him. They sidled around the corner of the tent and away, leaving Kedry and Steve alone.

“You don’t have any big secrets you’re keeping secret for an understandable reason, do you?” Steve asked, not really expecting an answer.

There was a pause.

“No,” Kedry said. “I’m going to prepare for dinner.” Like the others, he disappeared around the corner.

Steve let out another sigh. “Fuck.”

X

The tavern they called The Hunter’s Hall was becoming comfortably familiar to Steve, as he found himself returning to it as the tournament continued. It reminded him of a beer hall he and the Commandos had visited a time or two in Europe.

As usual, the place was packed with all sorts of folk, from off duty servants and men-at-arms, to hedge knights and minor nobles, even a few great lords and their retinues slumming it. The whole place stank of ale, and was filled by the dull roar of conversation, some more raucous than others.

Steve, Kedry, Naerys, and Robin found themselves a table by the wall in a quieter part of the tavern, where they wouldn’t have to share it with anyone else. Toby was out searching for the hedge knight who had defeated Stokeworth, and was uninterested in an evening spent at the tavern besides.

“You did well in the lists today,” Naerys said to Kedry, as they waited to catch a server’s eye.

“Thank you,” Kedry said. “It has been nearly a year since I was able to joust; I’m pleased I’ve kept my skill.”

“Couldn’t find anyone to practise against?” Steve asked.

“...Yes,” Kedry said. “Carving a lance is not a quick task on the road, either.”

“How’d you learn to joust, anyway?” Robin asked. “My first tourney, I begged my Da to teach me, but he said you had to get a knight to do it.”

“My father knew a knight, and he prevailed upon him to teach me,” Kedry said.

“That can’t have been cheap, even for a merchant,” Naerys said.

“A merchant?” Kedry asked.

“Are you not the son of a merchant family?” Naerys asked. “I’m sorry, but between your accent and your education, I had assumed…”

“Oh,” Kedry said, “No, my father had served with the knight during the war of the Ninepenny Kings and saved his life. Training me was his way of repaying that debt.”

“How come he didn’t knight you?” Robin asked. “You were unbeatable today.”

Kedry’s eyes took on a distant look that Steve recognised all too well. “He died, in an ambush by the mountain clans as we were travelling.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Steve said. A thought occurred to him. “You said you rescued Toby from the mountain clans. Was that when...?”

“The same,” Kedry said, nodding.

For Toby, a mountain clan child, to have been present during an ambush suggested certain things. “That was good of you,” Steve said. “Not many would have, in that situation.”

Kedry smiled. “He’s a hellion,” he said, “but he’s my hellion now.”

There was a moment of relative quiet, as they appreciated the sentiment.

“Do you still aim to gain your knighthood then?” Naerys asked.

“It is my dearest desire,” Kedry admitted, “but I must prove myself to a knight to earn it. And I would not accept it if I had not.”

“Only a knight can make a knight, right?” Steve asked.

“Or a king,” Kedry said. “But I am much more likely to impress a knight than the king.”

“I hear there’s a few hanging around the place for this tournament,” Steve said. “Maybe you’ll have some luck.”

“Maybe,” Kedry said. “But the moment must be right.”

“Like when you win the joust?” Robin asked, sly.

Kedry snorted, despite his best efforts to hold it in. “To do that, I would have to defeat the likes of Barristan Selmy, Arthur Dayne, the Prince...” He shook his head. “Perhaps one day, but not this day.”

“Are they really that much better?” Steve asked. “I haven’t seen any of them joust yet.”

“They’ve been learning it for longer, from more skilled jousters, against better competition, and with better equipment,” Kedry said. “There is a reason that most successful mystery knights turn out to be high nobility themselves.”

“You don’t need to beat them at their best,” Steve said, “just beat them on that day.”

“That’s a pragmatic way to look at it,” Kedry said.

“Everyone has off days,” Steve said. “I was disarmed by a sixteen year old kid one time.” He neglected to mention that the kid could lift trucks and stick to walls, but his point stood. “Point is, you’re not going up against the guy who broke twelve lances against a Kingsguard, you could be going up against the guy who spent all night on the toilet because he ate some bad fish.”

Robin snorted, and Naerys pressed her lips firmly together in a vain attempt to stop a smile.

“An interesting mental image,” Kedry said.

“You think having Toby on your side counts as special equipment or better training?” Steve asked.

Kedry frowned slightly, as if confused. “I miss your meaning,” he said.

“Kid is a whiz with horses,” Steve said. “That’s a rare talent.”

“He bonds easily with them,” Kedry said, but made no move to expand beyond that.

“I don’t think we’re going to be served any time soon,” Naerys said, before turning to Robin. “Come help me make an order.”

Robin rose from his seat automatically, even as he complained. “Can’t we just-”

“No,” Naerys said, leaving the table behind and making for the long bar across the hall.

There was a sudden quietness in the wake of their departure, as Steve considered Kedry and Kedry considered the table.

“Back home,” Steve said slowly, “I knew a man who could summon lightning. Held it in his hands as easily as we would a sword or shield.”

Kedry’s gaze snapped up to him.

“I also knew a woman who could make people see things that weren’t there, and bend reality to her whim,” he said. “They were both good people that I trusted to have my back in a fight.”

“Your home sounds...fantastical,” Kedry said diplomatically.

“My point is, Toby isn’t the first person with abilities that I’ve met,” Steve said. “If he had them, that is.”

“He is a mountain clan child,” Kedry said. “They’re good with h-”

“Good with horses, yeah, you said,” Steve said, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t mean to pressure you. This isn’t me laying down an ultimatum to tell me your secrets or leave.”

Kedry’s face was like stone, revealing not a hint of his thoughts.

“Everyone has their secrets, even me,” Steve continued. “I can tell it doesn’t sit well with you to keep whatever that secret is from me when I’m paying you, but whatever Toby’s ability is, it’s not the end of the world.”

“You’re not merely ‘paying’ me, I’m a member of your retinue,” Kedry said, a hint of exasperation in his voice for the first time. “My conduct reflects on you.”

“And it has reflected well,” Steve said. “I don’t see any reason that will change, either.”

Almost imperceptibly, Kedry winced, his blank facade cracking slightly. “Thank you for sharing tell of your comrades,” he said.

Steve nodded, accepting the diversion for what it was. “I can see Naerys and Robin on their way back,” he said. “Hope you’re thirsty.”

Kedry smiled, tension easing out of him. “After today, certainly. Perhaps you could share more tales of your fellow champions this eve?”

Robin neared the table just in time to hear Kedry’s words, and he almost bounced back into his seat in his enthusiasm. “The tales were all saying you led a band of champions, but they never had any details,” he said. He carried four flagons, two of water and two of ale, and handed one of each to Kedry.

Steve shared a glance with Naerys as she sat with four flagons of her own. “I have heard a little,” she said, “of the Man of Iron and Nat the Widowmaker, but I am eager to hear more.”

“Well,” Steve said, accepting his own two drinks. “Let me tell you about Thor the Thunderer and Wanda the, uh, Sly…”

Weightier topics were left behind, at least for now, as Steve shared tales of home with his new companions, pushing the familiar pang of homesickness away. Each time, he wondered if he would ever return, and each time, it got a little easier, but those were thoughts for later, and now was for drinking amongst friends.