A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

The second day of the tournament dawned bright and clear, Steve and his company rising for a simple but tasty breakfast of the last of their travel rations. The day was to be the last before at least one of them had some manner of even to compete in, with Steve fighting in the melee the day after, and then Kedry jousting the day after that. They had a full day ahead of them, and at this point, not a great deal to fill it with.

To pass the time, Steve retrieved the artbook and charcoal he had purchased in King’s Landing and set himself up on a chair in front of the tent. He was joined by Naerys, who seemed content to people watch, and Kedry, who set about inspecting and maintaining his glaive and new set of half plate. Robin ventured off towards the training yard with his bow to practice, while Toby disappeared in the direction of the stables after Kedry had secured a promise to behave himself.

At first, Steve sketched the lane of tents they had found sprouting around their site, taking in the rough pennants and the basic sigils they sometimes bore. After that, he moved onto a long suffering horse being tended to by a boy around Toby’s age. He gave it a very put upon expression, and added a speech bubble with it complaining about the quality of the apples the boy was sneaking it. It was edging into midmorning by the time he finished, and he was ready to put his charcoal down, when his attention was caught by Naerys.

The sun caught in her hair, causing it to glow, but he knew he couldn’t capture that with only the tools he had at hand. What caught his eye was the expression of pure contentment on her face as she watched the other tourney goers pass them by. The trouble of the night before had clearly been pushed aside - slapped aside, even - and now, for whatever reason, she was happy.

He set to work to capture the moment, hands moving deftly and eyes flicking between subject and parchment. Slowly, his work began to take shape.

His focus did not go unnoticed, however. Naerys lifted an inquisitive chin towards him, silently questioning.

“Give me a moment,” Steve said, filling in the details of her smile. Naerys waited, and soon he was done. “Here,” he said, offering the book to her.

“Oh,” Naerys said, taking in his work.

“I’m no da Vinci,” Steve said, “but I like to think I’m a fair hand.”

“No, this is - this is wonderful, Steve,” Naerys said. She gazed down at the page, drinking it in. “You could make good coin doing this.”

“It’s just a hobby,” Steve said. “Something I could do back when I was frail and sickly, or didn’t want to risk getting sicker.”

“It is hard to imagine you as frail or sickly,” Naerys said, still staring at the sketch.

“You can keep it if you want,” Steve said.

“I’m sorry?” Naerys asked.

“Cut the page from the book,” Steve said. “It’ll just sit in there otherwise.”

Naerys retrieved a knife from her skirts, and carefully removed the page of parchment from the book without ruining the bindings. “Thank you, Steve,” she said, holding it like it was something precious.

“Don’t mention it,” he said. He put his art tools aside, looking up at the sky. It was close to, but not quite lunch.

“How about we take a look around the castle grounds?” Steve asked. “Sure to be something worth seeing.”

“I think I’d like that,” Naerys said. She quickly rose from her chair to stow the portrait safely inside the tent, and Steve used the chance to do the same with his sketchbook.

Once they were ready, Steve offered Naerys his arm on a whim. “Shall we?” he asked.

“We shall,” Naerys said, smiling at his antics.

They set out, following the well trodden lanes and paths that had formed in the tent village of those attending the tournament. All around, there were those preparing for the events, enjoying the festival-like atmosphere, or doing as they were and taking in the sights. Some were lords on their way to somewhere else, others were knights in weathered gear, and yet more were smallfolk come to try their hand at a fortune that would change their lives and that of their descendants for generations to come. Merchants hawked their wares, traders haggled, men boasted, and humanity stank. It was a riot of noise and smell, and Steve was enjoying himself immensely, as was Naerys. A few short months ago she could hardly picture attending an event such as this, resigning herself to hearing of such things only third or fourth hand, and now here she was living her dream, and beside a man who she had no doubt would win one of the events with ease.

It was as they were nearing the unofficial kitchens for the tent village that a commotion caught Steve’s ears. Men shouted and animals shrieked as whatever the root cause was erupted from a stumbling scrum of cooks and customers.

A dog, patched and scarred, raced under tables and between legs as it fled a burly cook, a link of sausages clutched in its jaws trailing behind it. The cook put on a burst of speed to bring a heavy cleaver down on the dog, and Steve couldn’t help but cry out. At the last moment, the black and white animal juked aside, and the cleaver came down with a thunk into a table.

Perhaps hearing Steve, the dog sped towards him, using him as a shield against his pursuer. The cook took one look at his clothes and began to circle around him, trying to get at his prey, while the dog took the chance to begin scarfing down his bounty of sausage.

“Excuse me, m’lud,” the cook said, “if you’ll just move-” he lunged, only for the dog to dart aside again, downing the last of the sausages. The cook cursed.

“Unless you plan on turning the dog into more sausages,” Steve said, “I don’t think you’re getting that meat back.”

“Mebbe, but I’ll stop the little varmint from stealing more,” the cook said.

The dog growled, single ear pricked forward and beady black eyes fixed on the cleaver. His fur was patchwork, and Steve could count his ribs, even swollen by its recent theft.

“Steve,” Naerys said. Her tone was insistent, but her eyes were pleading. As if sensing his chance, the dog moved up to lean into her leg, while remaining alert.

Steve sighed. “How much did the sausages cost.”

“A silver stag,” the cook said immediately.

“Pull the other one,” Naerys said. “Three copper stars at most.”

“T’were five, and that’s the Seven’s honest truth,” the cook retorted.

“Fine,” Steve said, patting at his pockets. He had left his coin purse at the tent, but Naerys had him covered, retrieving the coin from her own pockets and handing them over.

The cook pocketed them in a flash, already moving away. “Best of luck to ye with the little beast,” he said.

Naerys cooed and knelt to scratch the dog behind its ear. A ratty tail drummed a beat in the dirt as he panted happily.

“What are we going to call you?” Steve asked. The dog licked his ankle.

“You’re a Dodger,” Steve decided. Thump thump thump went Dodger’s tail. “Just don’t even think of moving to LA,” he warned.

Dodger whuffed and licked his chops.

“You just ate,” Steve said. “If I get you any more you’ll just throw it up.”

“He needs a bath,” Naerys said, eyeing him critically. “And to be looked over for ticks and fleas.”

Dodger swallowed and let out a low whine.

“You’re not getting out of this,” Steve said, eyeing him. Dodger had more than just a few patches of thinning fur, but also partially healed scabs and a cut on his haunch slowly weeping pus. All in all, he was a weak, ugly, undernourished thing - but then, people had once said the same about Steve himself. All in all, Dodger looked somewhat similar to what people back home would call a bull terrier, although one that had been through the wars.

“The castle has some large kennels on the east wall,” Naerys said. “We could get what we need from there.”

“Sounds good,” Steve said. Before they could turn word into deed, however, they were approached by a man in the black and yellow livery of the Whents.

“Lord America?” the man asked.

“That’s me,” Steve said. By the look of the man, he didn’t think he was going to like what he was about to hear.

“I bear you poor tidings; doubt has been raised as to your nobility and therefore eligibility to compete in the melee of this great tournament,” the servant told him. “Unless you can offer proof of your lordship, you will be disqualified from all noble events before the day is out.”

“Doubt raised?” Steve demanded. “By whom?”

The servant hesitated, losing some of his official bearing. “I could not say, ah, my lord. The field is nigh full, so the heralds were instructed to ensure that all who had entered were worthy. You would have to speak to them to find out more.”

“And where can I find these heralds?” Steve asked.

“They are established in the lower levels of the Kingspyre Tower,” the servant said. “Excuse me ser, I’ve more tasks to complete.” He hurried off, disappearing into the crowds.

“This is the work of those sacks of pox from the feast,” Naerys said. Her eyes held anger, even as she stroked Dodger’s ears and kept her tone even. “They didn’t like someone beneath them standing up to them.”

“No chance it’s just business as usual?” Steve asked. “I am, after all, not a noble...of Westeros.”

Naerys shook her head. “No herald is going to go through a list looking for someone to eject unless they’ve been told to look for a name in particular. Someone told them your name. We have to overcome whatever influence they have here.”

Steve nodded, considering their options. He had made contacts, connections, since his arrival in Westeros, some closer than others, others more useful than some. He didn’t think this was a problem insurmountable, but it would still take some doing. He observed Naerys as he thought. His first little clash with nobility had been her cousin, and she had been worried and fretted over the consequences of going up against him. Now here she was planning how to cut through the intrigues of another three nobles, at the least.

“I’d ask if you could come with me to see the heralds, but…” Steve said, gesturing to Dodger, who seemed quite content to lean up against Naerys’s legs.

“I’ll take care of Dodger,” Naerys said, “but I’ll tell Kedry to meet you at the Kingspyre Tower. Even if he’s not a ser, he’s had experience with this sort of thing. He managed to get into the joust after all.” Her brow furrowed, ever so slightly.

“Good thing he wasn’t with us at the feast then,” Steve said, “or they might have gone after him too.”

“Hmm.” Naerys inspected him, taking in his simple clothing. “Your blue armour might be best, but if they look at you and don’t see a noble already, it won’t help.”

“Should I get my shield?” Steve asked.

“...no,” Naerys said, after considering a moment. “Even a Valyrian sword isn’t taken as proof of nobility, and the smallfolk holding it wouldn’t have it long after it catches the eye of a noble.”

“I’d like to see them try to take my shield,” Steve said, snorting.

“Well yes, but then we’d have to flee Harrenhal, and you’d have beaten all these knights for no prize,” Naerys said, quite sensibly.

“Hey, I’ve been looking forward to this melee,” Steve said, smiling. “Maybe I want the fight more than the gold.”

Naerys rolled her eyes, gathering Dodger up in her arms and turning to leave. “I’ll have Kedry meet you at the main doors to the tower. Don’t take too long getting there.” She left, heading back to their tent.

As large as Harrenhal was, it took him twenty minutes to make his way across the grounds to the Kingspyre Tower, passing around the edge of the training yard on his way. The entrance to the tower was easy enough to find, as a steady stream of servants and officials made their way in and out. Steve took up a spot against the wall, and waited for Kedry.

Kedry arrived just short of ten minutes later, making his way across the Flowstone Yard with a somber expression on his face. He had taken the time to dress in some of his more presentable new clothing, and he greeted Steve with a bow of his head. “Steve,” he said.

“Kedry, thanks for coming,” Steve said. “Naerys fill you in?”

“She did,” Kedry said. “I am sorry for the troubles caused.”

“Hardly your fault,” Steve said, waving it away. “You weren’t even there when the trouble went down.”

“Even so, I-”

“They might have tried to get me disqualified, but it’s not going to save the bullies from a beating,” Steve said.

A blank look came over Kedry’s face for a short moment. “I may have misunderstood what Naerys told me,” he said.

“We had some trouble at the feast last night; Toby filled you in?” Steve asked, receiving a nod in return. “We think they’ve gone to the heralds and persuaded them to disqualify me on account of not being a noble of Westeros.”

“I see,” Kedry said.

“You’ve gone to tournaments before, right?” Steve said.

“...I have attended some few, yes,” Kedry said.

“So we can speak to the heralds, find out what they’ve been told, and see what we need to overcome,” Steve said. “I was hoping you could help with that, given I’ve never competed before.”

“Of course,” Kedry said. “For the aid you have given me, how could I not?”

“Let’s sort this out then,” Steve said. “I don’t want to waste the rest of my day on it.” He led the way into the tower, Kedry following him.

It seemed that he had been directed to the administrative centre of the tournament, with serving boys and girls running every which way with rolls of parchment, running notes and messages to check and double check plans and protocols for everything from the layout of the tent village to seating arrangements for the joust to payment orders for the blacksmiths keeping everyone in armour. The entrance lead to a decently sized antechamber, with a number of halls leading off from it. The symbols of the Whents were everywhere, hanging from banners on the ceiling, sewn into livery, even tiled into the floor.

Steve tapped the shoulder of a young boy loitering by the main entrance who was wearing the expression of someone trying to look too busy to be asked for help. “I’m looking for the heralds in charge of the melee. Where can I find them?”

“Three halls down, take a right, then it’s the fifth door m’lord,” the boy said.

“Thanks,” Steve said, before pausing. “If you want to look busy, keep moving. If you wait by the door the whole time, someone will notice.”

The boy froze, eyes darting to Steve’s, before giving a jerky nod. As Steve and Kedry moved on, they saw him begin to make a circuit of the hall.

“He’s likely to catch a hiding if he’s caught slacking off,” Kedry said, although there was no reprovement in his voice.

“With luck he won’t be caught then,” Steve said. “Anyway, someone who has to threaten a thrashing to get people to work deserves to be run around on.” He stepped aside to avoid a girl carrying a stack of parchment higher than her head.

“You can see why some people might doubt your noble status,” Kedry said wryly, as they headed down the halls.

“Damn. I knew I was missing something,” Steve said. “What can I expect here?” he asked, more seriously.

“The heralds will demand proof of your status, such as a patent of nobility,” Kedry said. “I don’t suppose you have such a thing?”

“I washed ashore with my armour and my shield, and I lost the shield for a while,” Steve said.

“Then unless you can find a scribe mad enough to forge a patent, that avenue is closed,” Kedry said. “But none would ever dare such.”

“What other options do we have?”

“Become a noble before the end of the day,” Kedry suggested. “I’m sure there are maidens aplenty willing to marry someone such as...you.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m not the kind of guy to move on a gal so quickly.”

“You could persuade those who started this to abandon their claim,” Kedry said.

“Could I challenge them, to a duel or something?” Steve asked.

“From what Toby told me, I doubt they would accept,” Kedry said. “They would likely hide behind their status and declare you unworthy of fighting.”

“I think I’m starting to look forward to seeing them in the melee,” Steve grumbled.

“Your best hope is to have someone of greater status than they intervene,” Kedry said. “But they would need a reason to do so.”

Steve grunted in acknowledgement. As they continued on their way, the bustle grew less, and the scent of parchment grew near to overpowering. It reminded him of the old records room at the SSR. With that memory came others, of hours upon hours spent being poked and prodded because some department head wanted another look or some major confirmation of something else. He had eventually realised he was caught in the middle of some kind of pissing match between two groups, who were using him as a proxy to make their point. When he had discovered that, he had accidentally walked through the door on his way out, rather than opening it first. He was reminded of that petty level of bullcrap now, and it tired him.

They reached the door the kid had directed them to, and Steve rapped on it. It was quickly opened, a girl in her early teens peering out.

“Who is it girl?” a voice demanded from within the room.

“Nobles maester,” the girl answered, after looking them up and down.

“Send them in then,” the voice said, suddenly more accommodating.

The girl stepped aside, and they entered into a room dominated by a heavy wooden table. Upon it, and hanging from the walls as well, were great lists of names, each with heraldry beside it and a small note. There was only one man present, the maester, stooped and rubbing at his eyes, but there was evidence of the presence of many more, with empty pots of ink and abandoned quills.

“How may I aid you, my lords?” the maester asked. His back was stooped, but his eyes were clear, and his forehead was a mass of frown lines.

“I am Lord America, and you can put me back on the lists for the melee.” A desire to be upfront and cut through the nonsense saw him state his purpose plainly.

“And you have proof of this?” the maester answered, quickly, smoothly, as if he had been expecting it. He gave the girl a look, and she went to stand outside, closing the door behind her.

“Proof,” Steve said flatly. So that was the way it was going to be.

“Proof of nobility, of identity,” the maester said. “You understand that we cannot let just anyone join such esteemed company in this tournament, or we would have all sorts of undesirables attempting to worm their way in.” He smiled, and Steve recognised it as a slimy thing.

“Your King greeted me as Lord America before his court,” Steve said. “You’d think a loyal subject would take his cue from that.” He didn’t like playing these games, but he knew how to play them.

“I could not possibly speak as to the mind of His Grace when he provided you the dignity of addressing you by your claimed title in court,” the maester said. “I presume that the King provided you a writ recognising you as such?”.

“His word isn’t enough?” Steve pressed.

“His word, certainly. Your word, claiming his? Not as such.”

“There were many witnesses,” Kedry said. “The story has spread far in the weeks since.”

“And for a silver stag, I’m sure you could find any number who would claim to have stood in the Red Keep that day, to tell of the lord who was from a land across the sea that appears on no maps and that no one has ever heard of who was spoken to so briefly by the King,” the maester said.

Steve was already tired of this. The maester was starting to annoy him more than the one at the Red Keep. “You sure you want to do this? Really sure, I mean. Lot of risk to go to for whoever put you up to this.”

The maester gave him a scornful look. “Peasants try to reach beyond their station at every opportunity. It is usually my duty to safeguard the institutions of nobility and knighthood, but in this instance, it is very much my pleasure.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. This man was set on disbelieving him, and to be fair, he wasn’t actually a noble by the standards of his home. Mostly because they’d mostly moved on from such an outdated institution, but still. “And what was your name, maester?”

“I am Maester Edgar,” the maester said, looking down his nose at him. “Do be sure to pass that on to His Grace when you undoubtedly see him next.”

“If that’s the way it has to be,” Steve said. He turned, leaving the room behind, Kedry on his heels. They made their way down the hall a ways, stepping past the girl waiting outside the door, before stopping to speak.

“He was well and waiting for us,” Kedry said.

“He’d heard the story I told of where I was from,” Steve said. “I don’t understand why he’s so happy to pick a fight over this.”

“For some men, their privilege is everything,” Kedry said. “And they are jealous of their privilege.”

“Jealous enough to go against the King?” Steve asked, skeptical.

“He may genuinely believe your tale to be false,” Kedry said.

“I thought he would be warier of how mercurial the King’s moods seem to be.”

“Bothering the King over such a small matter might be seen by some as foolhardy,” Kedry said, somewhat delicately.

“You think it’d be a bad idea?” Steve asked.

“I think it would be an unsure idea,” Kedry answered. “And even if it resulted in your favour, what would he want in return?”

Steve let out a low hmm, rubbing at his chin. He’d need to shave again soon; he could already feel stubble.

“‘Scuse me, milords,” a voice came from behind them. “I heard what you lot were talkin’ ‘bout in there, and I reckon I could help yez with those troubles of yorn.”

Steve turned to see the girl who had first greeted him standing almost behind him. His brows shot up. “I didn’t even hear you approach us.”

“‘M sneaky like that,” the girl said. Her dark hair was tied back at her neck, and she wore a simple dress that was a few washes past thinning.

“You said you could help us?” Kedry asked.

“Iffn you make it worth my while,” the girl said. "I hear all sorts of things waiting by that door."

“I appreciate your offer,” Steve said, patting at his belt for a coin. “But I’ve got half an idea of how to sort this mess out.” He found a silver coin, too much to hand over for the sausages earlier, but the girl had tried to help him.

The girl squinted at the silver coin, and then back up at him. “Are ya daft?”

“Kid, you’re not the first to ask me that,” Steve said.

The coin disappeared up her sleeve, leaving her staring dubiously at him. “‘M not taking yer coin to tell yer nothin’. It was a toff called Longwaters that told the grey rat you weren’t no noble, said you was plottin’ to get into the fight so you could make some bets. Even said you was telling a tale about visiting King’s Landing.”

“Thank you,” Kedry said, before leaning forward. “The maester doesn’t give you any trouble, does he?”

The girl scoffed. “The old miser likes his whores well flowered. ‘M just tryin’ to make some coin where I can.”

For a moment, Steve considered offering the girl a job. She had managed to sneak up on him, even if he wasn’t actively watching out for it. Then he thought about the size of his retinue already. The road of a medieval country was bad enough to take one child on, let alone two. “What’s your name?”

“Ma called me Lyanna afore she croaked,” the girl said.

“Well, take care of yourself Lyanna,” Steve said. “Make sure you don’t get caught listening at doors.”

“I never get caught,” Lyanna scoffed. With that she ducked away, returning to the irritating maester’s side.

“And that’s why you don’t thrash your servants,” Steve said. “Come on. We know enough to see a friend about a fight.”

X

Kedry had begged off, labeling his presence unnecessary and returning to their tent. Unlike Jaime, Barristan wasn’t staying in his own lavish tent, but sharing with the other members of the Kingsguard in the quarters of the castle set aside for the King. After prevailing upon a servant to take a message to Barristan confirming the welcome of his presence, Steve was escorted through the rich halls to the door to a comparatively modest room. It was modest in that there was slightly less gold and filigree on the walls and tapestries. The man he was here to see answered the door with a whetstone in hand, dismissing the servant with a gesture.

“Steve!” Barristan greeted him. “You left the feast before we could finish our conversation.”

“Sorry for ducking out on you like that,” Steve said. “There was a bit of trouble with my friends.”

“I hope it was nothing serious,” Barristan said, returning to the table within the room. Laid out upon it was a variety of small blades, in various stages of maintenance. “Please, be seated.”

“Well, we dealt with the immediate issue well enough,” Steve said. “But that just encouraged them.” He took a seat across from Barristan.

“Oh?” Barristan asked.

“The maester working on the melee lists wants to disqualify me on account of not being a noble,” Steve said.

Barristan set his whetstone down. “Ah.”

“I went to speak with him, and there’s more to it,” Steve said. “A servant mentioned hearing one of the nobles I had a problem with at the feast speaking to the maester about me.”

“And of course you have no acceptable proof of your nobility here with you, not after washing up in the Crownlands,” Barristan said. He sat back in his chair, pondering the issue.

“King Aerys acknowledging my lordship had been opening a few doors for me so far,” Steve said.

“It would at that,” Barristan said, “but lords are a fractious lot, and royal authority does not always carry the weight it ought to in some corners of the realm, or when lords find it inconvenient.”

“You can guess why I’ve come to see you now,” Steve said.

“Yes yes, of course,” Barristan said. “I can’t speak for the King, but I can confirm his words. To be true, my word as to your stature ought to be sufficient.”

“I appreciate that, Barristan,” Steve said.

“Think nothing of it,” the knight said. “These men you quarrelled with, what were their names?”

“I didn’t get their names, but their Houses are Stokeworth, Hayford, and Longwaters,” Steve said. “Can’t say I was impressed by them.”

“Crownland houses,” Barristan muttered to himself. “But they ought not be dismissive of the King’s words…”

“I might have made them look bad in front of their wives and kids, and a few others,” Steve admitted. “They pushed a few of my buttons.”

“Pride,” Barristan said, shaking his head. “Bane of even the greatest men. What was this maester’s name, the one you spoke with?”

“Maester Edgar,” Steve said. “No last name given.”

Barristan drummed his fingers on the table. “The Hayfords had a third son by that name who went to the Citadel.”

“Think it could be him?”

“Possible, but difficult to confirm if wished to be concealed, and ultimately irrelevant,” Barristan said. “I will deal with the issue.” His words were final, but then he grinned. “You won’t be escaping your beating that easily,” he said.

“I hadn’t heard there was anyone who could give me one competing,” Steve said.

“Here, you know how to hone a blade?” Barristan asked, offering a whetstone.

“I’ve handled one or two in my time,” Steve said, accepting the stone.

“You can tell me about your journey from King’s Landing to here,” Barristan said. “I couldn’t help but notice your retinue had increased from just the Lady Naerys.”

“You want to hear about the bandits or the gravedigging first?” Steve asked.

“The bandits, of course.”

“Well, Naerys got one of them. Her first real fight, and she kept her head, defended herself well…” Steve began to tell Barristan the tale of their journey, satisfied that whatever brief trouble had been put in his way had been resolved. At least for the moment.

X x X

Steve spent a companionable hour speaking with Barristan, before the man’s duties called him. With the most pressing issue promising to be solved, all that was left was to while away the hours before getting a good rest for the melee the next day. To that end, Steve returned to his tent, intent on getting some light practise in before finding dinner. The training yard was close to bursting with those who had had the same thought, so Steve made instead for the open area between the back of their tent and the old ruined sept. Most avoided, or at least steered around the sept, and so the ground there had yet to be trampled to mud like much of the lanes and paths around the tent village.

In the peasant garb he wore on the road and with his shield in hand, Steve moved through a series of old exercises at quarter speed, picturing a knight wielding a sword in his mind’s eye. Many of his instincts would be at best a distraction on the battlefields of this land, and at worst a weakness. He would have to adapt and overcome. His spars at the Red Keep had given him some idea of what to expect, so he wouldn’t be walking onto the field tomorrow blind, but the melee was likely to be a different beast to a simple spar.

Keeping his breaths deep and even, Steve practiced a sweep and twist of his shield that had almost disarmed Barristan, using the jagged edge of the shield to grip the blade. Despite its failure in the spar, he thought the move had potential. But then, what if his foe didn’t wield a sword? He pictured a hammer, or a flail, or a spear, and the ways they might be used against him. Slowly, he lost himself in his thoughts as he put himself through his paces, thinking how his new hammer would affect his combat style. Imagined musings might not be any substitute for true training or experience, but the imagined musings of a super soldier with hard won martial skill counted for more than most.

Some time later, a cleared throat drew him out of his focus. Steve lowered his shield and turned to see an unfamiliar servant waiting at attention to the side of his practice area. While the man’s face was unfamiliar, his colours weren’t; purple stitching and a sigil of a sword over a falling star.

“Did Arthur want a word?” Steve asked, loosening the straps on his shield.

The servant blinked, but answered without pause. “Ah, no my lord, it is my lady Ashara Dayne who wishes to speak with you this afternoon at your convenience.”

Steve glanced at the sky. The sun was still visible above the enormous castle walls, but only just, and midday had well and truly been left behind. He may not have ever spoken with Ashara himself, but he was on good enough terms with her brother. Maybe he could find out how her dance with Eddard had gone. “I can make some time,” he said. “Should I change, or..?”

“I think it would be best,” the servant said delicately.

“Right,” Steve said. “Give me a moment.”

Steve ducked into the tent, leaving the servant waiting outside, and made for his room. He wouldn’t have time to traipse to the limited facilities on offer for the more common guests of the castle, but he could wipe himself down and don some of his nicer clothes.

As he changed, he heard the main tent flap being pulled back, and the muffled voices of Naerys and Kedry. He stepped out to greet them, still pulling his shirt on.

“How’d things go with Dodger at the kennels?” Steve asked Naerys by way of greeting.

Naerys opened and closed her mouth, apparently distracted by his sudden question. She and Kedry were kneeling on the canvas mat they’d put out in the tent, showering Dodger with affection. “Good,” she said. “No problems that some food and care won’t fix, although his tail will never be straight again.”

“Adds character anyway,” Steve said, giving Dodger a once over. He had been cleaned, lice and ticks picked free and scabs pasted over with some concoction that smelt faintly of mint. He had a bone in his jaws that he was working over, and from the crunching sounds coming from it Steve didn’t think it would last long. A leather collar had been found for him, and he seemed to be tolerating the rope that ran from it to Naerys’ hand.

“The kennel master thinks one parent might have been some lord’s fighting dog, if not Dodger himself,” Naerys said.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Steve said. He didn’t think much of animal blood sports, but at least Dodger would be able to defend himself if the need arose.

“You’re dressed for an occasion,” Kedry said. “Is there another feast? I can watch Dodger, if need be.”

“Lost my taste for feasts, for now at least,” Steve said. “I’ve been asked to see Ashara Dayne, and I don’t want to be rude.”

“Ashara Dayne asked you to her quarters?” Naerys asked, frowning slightly.

“I’m not sure where, exactly,” Steve said. “The servant just said she wanted to talk.” He shrugged. “Probably something to do with pointing the Stark kid in her direction at the feast.” It was still strange hearing Tony’s name on some great noble family, although he probably would have said it was only natural.

“Do you know how their conversation went?” Kedry asked.

“I couldn’t say; we left not long after,” Steve said. “Why?”

“If Lady Dayne wishes to speak with you about it, then it likely went very well or quite badly,” Kedry said.

“Well, here’s hoping,” Steve said. “Do you know where Robin and Toby got to?”

Naerys shook her head, but Kedry nodded.

“I saw them in the company of the young serving girl who offered us aid earlier,” Kedry said. “I made sure nothing untoward was occurring, and they assured me all was fine.” He frowned. “In hindsight, I may have been too trusting.”

“I doubt they’ll have any issue getting themselves into and out of trouble,” Steve said. He adjusted his fancy clothes, turning this way and that. “How do I look?”

Kedry and Naerys shared a glance.

“Acceptable,” the blonde woman said.

“Swell. I’ll see you later tonight then.” With that farewell, Steve left the tent, and began to follow the Dayne servant towards the towers. Time to see what this was all about.

X

The Daynes apparently warranted a suite of rooms only a few floors below Barristan, and therefore the King. There was a level of opulence to it that felt out of place after the time spent on the road, and like Steve was coming to expect, the symbol or colour of the House it belonged to could be found all over. The door in the hallway led not to the suite proper but to a kind of antechamber, through which Steve was led before the servant knocked on one of the doors along its back wall. An affirmative call answered the knock, and the way was opened for him.

“The Lord America,” the servant announced him to the room, before standing aside so Steve could enter.

It reminded him of a salon he’d been invited to in London during the War, but only superficially. Three ladies looked up at his entrance, arrayed in an open circle with needles and fabric in hand. Ashara he recognised, but the other two he didn’t. They could have been nobles themselves, or just favoured servants, but they both had the look that he was coming to recognise as ‘Dornish’ to them.

“Lord America, thank you for coming to see me,” Ashara said. “These are my companions, Lady Leia, and Lady Myria.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Steve said, tipping his head to the women. In person, in a well lit room, he could see why so many people would be eager to make time with Ashara. She was certainly something of a beauty. Purely to his artist’s eye, that is. Leia on the other hand looked somewhat familiar - maybe she was related to someone he’d met? - while Myria was comparatively more plain, mostly in her dress than anything.

“I realise this invitation must have seemed unheralded,” Ashara explained. “My brother, Arthur, spoke of you to me, and after I realised who it was that persuaded Ned to ask me to dance, I had to satisfy my curiosity.”

“Arthur mentioned you a few times on the road too,” Steve said.

“Please, sit with us,” Ashara said, gesturing to a free chair in the circle. “Nothing too scandalous, I hope?”

Steve eyed the delicate chaise and took a seat, sitting straight backed. “Nothing worse than a distracted chef and upset stomachs from too much blood orange tart,” he said.

Ashara’s eyes narrowed as her friends hid smiles. “Ooh, that lout. He said he’d stop telling that story.”

“Brothers will be brothers,” Steve said, relaxing slightly. Maybe he wouldn’t have to stand on what little ceremony he knew here.

“You speak from experience?” Myria asked. Her voice was quite musical.

“I guess you could say that,” Steve said. “Mine was more pulling me out of trouble than embarrassing tales though.”

“Would you care for some afternoon tea?” Ashara asked. “We were about to partake.”

Steve’s stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since lunch with Barristan. “Sure, I’d appreciate that.”

Ashara rang a small bell, and several moments later a servant entered from another door carrying a tray of pastries.

They were quite small, and when the tray was placed on a small table between them all Steve took one and chewed it experimentally. They were cheese and spinach if his taste was right, and he made a pleased sound before taking another. “These are good,” Steve said, popping it into his mouth.

“I’m glad you find them to your liking; they’re a recipe from home,” Ashara explained, taking a dainty bite of her own.

Steve noticed the other two women eating similarly, taking small bites while being wary of crumbs, and swallowed his second. He coughed, deciding to wait before taking more.

“What was it that made you prompt Eddard to approach Ashara?” Leia asked. “We’ve been gossiping about it all day, between other topics.”

Ashara’s arm twitched, like she’d almost reached over to poke Leia, but she kept a kindly smile on her face.

“I missed a dance once, and I guess I didn’t want him to have that same regret.” Steve’s gaze drifted to a painting on one of the walls, seeing it without taking in any details, his mind far away. His hand brushed a pocket, and the locket that was kept safely inside.

“You have a lady waiting for you in your homeland,” Ashara said, eyes keen.

Steve made a snap decision, retrieving the locket and carefully opening it. “This is Margaret - Peggy, she preferred. If I’m lucky, one day I’ll see her again.” He ignored the dull pain of her passing and the years long since lost, carefully shepherding the embers of hope that had sparked within him the moment Tony had come to them with his plan to reverse the Snap.

“She must be a singular woman,” Leia said, peering at the picture..

Steve thought back to the time she had shot at him, more than once, and snorted a laugh. “She is.”

“So you did not wish to see Ned miss his chance,” Ashara said.

“Carpe diem,” Steve said. “Seize the day.”

“I see,” Ashara said, considering his answer. Her gaze went to the half finished embroidery in her lap.

“‘Carpe diem’. Is that Valyrian?” Myria asked.

“It’s a dead language from my homeland,” Steve said. “Mostly used by scholars these days.”

“Is there a great learning tradition in your homeland?” Myria asked.

“You could say that,” Steve said. “As much as we have a carpentry tradition, or soldiery.”

“Have you thought to visit the Citadel at Oldtown?” Myria said. “It is a great repository of knowledge; you might find a way home there.”

Steve pulled a face. “I can’t say I’m too impressed with the maesters I’ve met so far.”

“Oh?” Leia asked, almost sharklike. “Do tell.”

“Well, to start with, I tried to speak with the maester at the Red Keep about finding a few things only to be palmed off because he was more interested in his uh,” Steve said, only to hesitate as he remembered his audience, “his companion of the night.”

Leia let out a derisive laugh. “Pycelle’s whores will be the end of him one day,” she said. She seemed to be waiting for his reaction.

“It certainly says a lot about the man who will put aside his duty to his calling or his country for his own stubborn pleasures,” Steve said.

“Hmm,” Leia said, leaning back in her chair.

“One bad experience was not enough to sour you on the Maesters as a whole though, surely?” Myria asked.

“I’d hate to paint one group with the same brush,” Steve said, “but just today I had another maester try to disqualify me from the melee on account of some unpleasant nobles.”

“How unusual,” Ashara said, rejoining the conversation. “And quite a risk to his position, at that.” Her tone invited him to share more.

“He might be related to some nobles whose bad side I put myself on at the feast last night,” Steve said. “Not that I’d want to be on their good side, from what I saw.”

“Surely you don’t mean to leave us in suspense,” Myria said, urging him on.

Steve paused, considering for a moment if he wanted to take things further and put the social screws to the punks. Then he remembered the look on Naerys’ face as Hayford held her arm. “Hayford, Longwaters, and Stokeworth,” he said, remembering their House names. “Hayford laid hands on one of my companions, and when she defended herself he threatened her with violence. I took him in hand and told him why his actions weren’t acceptable.”

“Was this Naerys Waters?” Leia asked. “Late of Sharp Point?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “She nursed me back to health when I washed ashore, and is a good friend besides. They seemed fine with threatening her and the two kids, but were less eager to pick a fight with me, so their next step was to try to have me disqualified.”

“But they were unsuccessful, yes?” Leia pressed him. “You will be competing on the morrow?”

“I spoke with Barristan, and he said he’d clear it all up,” Steve said, and Leia nodded, satisfied.

“Such unchivalrous behaviour,” Myria said. “It would truly be a shame if word of their conduct were to spread.”

“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it,” Steve said. “If word of a man’s deeds were to hurt him, then he probably deserves it.”

The ladies exchanged glances, all seemingly of one mind. “A shame indeed,” Leia murmured.

“I’m sure you didn’t ask me here to hear me gripe though,” Steve said, half apologetic.

“Complaining is a time honoured tradition among stitching circles,” Ashara said.

A memory came to Steve’s mind, one from long ago. “My Ma called it the stitch ‘n bitch,” he said candidly.

Leia snorted violently, almost choking on the pastry she had been taking a bite of. “Excuse me, a thousand apologies,” she said, trying to regain some dignity as her friends laughed at her. “Some friends you are,” she grumbled, but she was smiling.

“How was the dance, if you don’t mind me asking?” Steve said, turning to Ashara and returning to the original topic.

“It was most enjoyable,” Ashara said, ignoring the tittering coming from her companions with her head held high, “as was the conversation I had with Ned. I really must thank you for giving him the encouragement he needed.”

“Don’t mention it,” Steve said. “It’s good to see two kids getting along like you are.”

Ashara gave him a slightly odd look, but nodded. “Know that I am grateful, and if I can introduce you to someone in turn, I will endeavor to do so.” She leaned forward, as if to confide. “I am on somewhat decent terms with the Princess Elia, you see.”

Steve felt like a joke was flying over his head, but smiled nonetheless. “I appreciate that, Lady Ashara.”

“On less weighty matters, you must try more of these pastries,” Leia said. “Here, this type is my favourite…”

It seemed whatever measure the ladies had meant to take of him had been done, and they were pleased with what they had found, for the rest of the meeting passed pleasantly, and Steve left the suite with a pop in his step and a calm mind, ready for the challenge of the next day.