A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

“So you did not become a Captain until you were already a man grown?” Naerys asked, eyes alight with curiosity.

They were traveling down an empty road, Naerys ahorse and Steve jogging easily beside her. Sharp Point lay a week and a half behind them, as did the last of Steve’s lingering weakness. Fishing as they followed the coast had kept them fed, as had the bounty of a wild pig unfortunate enough to cross their path.

“I was a sickly child, always ill with something or another,” Steve said. Their journey had seen his grasp of Westerosi increase in leaps and bounds. “I think I shocked my doctors every time I reached another birthday.”

“You are no sickly child now,” Naerys said, pointedly looking at him as he kept pace with the horse.

“No,” Steve said, memories of a lifetime ago crossing his mind’s eye. “There was a man I met, you would call him a maester, who saw something in me. He helped me become what I am today.”

“The Captain of America,” Naerys said. “Does this maester still serve you?”

Steve was quiet for several long strides. “He was killed for what he knew, shortly after helping me.”

“I am sorry,” Naerys said, hunching slightly.

“It is an old hurt, scabbed over a long time ago,” Steve said. “And I know I have become everything he hoped for and more.”

Naerys began to ask something, only to visibly change her mind. “What will you do when we catch the men with your shield?” she asked instead.

“Suppose I’ll ask them nicely for it,” Steve said.

“And if they don’t just surrender it?”

“I’ll ask a bit less nicely,” Steve said, joking.

Naerys laughed, and they continued along the road, time passing in easy silence. At length, she spoke again.

“What if we don’t catch them before they give it to the King?”

A slight frown crossed Steve’s face. “Suppose I’ll ask him for it nicely.”

Naerys remembered the way the man beside her had kicked an armoured man across a courtyard, and shivered despite the sun. They would just have to find his shield before it reached King’s Landing. She touched her heels to the horse’s flanks lightly and he began an easy trot, Steve keeping pace easily, just as he had every other day so far.

No, nothing good would come from a man like Steve Rogers meeting a man like Aerys Targaryen.

X x X

Two days later saw them making good time along the side of the Wendwater, discussing their path forward.

“We have two options,” Naerys told Steve. “We can take the main road, and go through Wendwater Keep to cross on Wendwater Bridge. It’s the better of the roads, and better protected, but there’s a chance my cousin has sent word to nearby Captains of what we did.”

“What I did,” Steve reminded her.

“I left with you and fled a marriage; I’m just as guilty in his eyes,” Naerys said. “The other option is to take a smaller bridge before the castle. We won’t run afoul of the Captain’s men, but I heard rumours of the Kingswood Brotherhood preying on nobles and merchants off the main road.

“Which is faster?” Steve asked.

“Little difference,” Naerys said. “The longer path over Wendwater Bridge is in better condition, so...”

“We’ll take the side road,” Steve said. “I don’t want to have to fight my way through people just doing their jobs.”

‘Yes,’ Naerys thought, ‘because that was the largest concern.’ Aloud, she said, “We’re not far from the bridge then. We should be able to cross it today.”

Steve nodded. “Which road do you think Bar Emmon’s men would have taken?”

“Hard to say,” Naerys said. “If it came out what they were carrying, Captain Wendwater might consider taking the shield and presenting it to the King himself. My cousin is not powerful, and is not on good terms with his neighbours. But if they don’t risk Wendwater, they risk the Brotherhood.”

“Who is this ‘Kingswood Brotherhood’?” Steve asked. “Are they soldiers from a rival kingdom?”

Naerys snorted. “Hardly. They’re outlaws and bandits. They don’t prey on the smallfolk though, only nobles and rich merchants, and they ransom them back if they can.”

“So they’re Robin Hood types then?” Steve said. At Naerys’s confused look, he explained. “Rob from the rich, give to the poor.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve heard no rumours of the like,” Naerys said. “Mostly they hate nobles. Their leader, Simon Toyne, used to be one, but his House feuded with the King one time too many.”

“I can’t say I think much of nobles ruling the land,” Steve said. “In my home, the leaders work for the people. ‘One nation under God, indivisible, with justice and liberty for all’.”

Naerys gave him a strange look, but her face cleared to understanding. “Your land sounds like a paradise at times.”

“It has its troubles,” Steve said. “But one of our leaders said it best: ‘My country right or wrong; if right to be kept right; and if wrong to be set right’.”

“You only make it sound more and more like paradise,” Naerys said with a laugh.

Steve’s gaze grew distant, red and black symbols, robots, a Chair, and a titanic purple figure crossing his mind’s eye. “We’ve come close to losing it all many times.”

“Will it be safe without you?” Naerys asked.

“...yeah, it will be,” Steve said, a small smile on his face. For all the horrors, there were those who stood against them. A man wearing red and grey wings, a woman in red, a cocky kid swinging around the city. “Come on,” he said, suddenly energised. “Let’s pick up the pace.” He began to jog, almost feeling the distance to his shield shrinking.

X x X

They crossed the Wendwater with no troubles, an unguarded wooden bridge that had seen better days providing passage. The trees of the Kingswood swallowed them up as they continued on, reminding Steve of a picturesque forest he had once visited in England, only rawer, and more untamed. The oats they had taken from Sharp Point were almost gone, even stretching them with ample grazing for the horse as they had done. By Naerys’ estimation, they were still around two weeks from King’s Landing.

The path they followed seemed mostly used for foot traffic and the occasional horse, and Steve wouldn’t fancy trying to take anything so unwieldy as a carriage along it. It was on their second day in the Kingswood that an obstacle appeared in their path.

Two men blocked their path, one a large man with a big belly sitting upon a stump that had been dragged onto the path, while the other stood next to him, slender and with the beginnings of a scratchy beard on his chin. Both were armed, the big man with a war hammer of sorts across his knees, while the other was resting lightly on a strung bow. As Steve and Naerys came to a stop some five paces before them, neither gave any indication of moving.

“Fellas,” Steve said. He was wearing the peasant garb Naerys had given him, not willing to travel in his armour for weeks given the trouble it was to clean, and the hammer he had taken from Sharp Point was in easy reach on the horse. He couldn’t hear anyone hiding in the forest nearby, nor was there any strange scents on the wind, but that was no guarantee of anything. “You waiting for someone?”

“Just enjoying the weather, friend,” the slender man said with a grin. His teeth were brown, but not rotten. “What brings you to these parts?”

“We’re following some people who have something that belongs to me,” Steve said. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen any riders come through here lately?”

“Oh, we’ve seen all sorts,” the man answered. “Smallfolk, nobles, merchants, soldiers, even Kingsguard, but never anyone quite like you.”

“I suppose we should be flattered,” Naerys said. Her hands were tight on the reigns.

“Mebbe you should, mebbe you shouldn’t,” the man said. “What do you think, Ben?”

The big man squinted at them. His face was round, and he clearly wasn’t lacking for food. “I dunno Ul. He looks more like a noble than she does.”

“If we were nobles,” Steve said. “Would we have a problem?”

Ben chewed on his lip. “Naw, no way a noble would be found dead in clothes like yours.”

“So you will stand aside and let us pass,” Naerys said, scowling.

“Well, course you can pass,” Ul said. “Only it’s been a while since we’ve had any friendly company.”

Steve’s stare went flat, and he took a step closer. “Friendly depends on you...friend.”

Ul held up a hand, still smiling. “Nothin’ like that. It just gets boring talking to the same people for moons on end. How about this; a quick competition, and if you win, you go on your way with a tale of a group of riders we saw, and if we win, you come back to our camp and share a bowl of stew.”

Steve glanced consideringly at Naerys. Was it worth humouring them?

“What sort of competition did you have in mind?” Steve asked.

Ul gestured expansively with his free arm. “You look a tough sort. You can arm wrestle Ben here, or we can see which of us is the better shot, or we can throw some dice. I’m a generous sort, so I’ll leave it up to you.”

Ben snorted, shaking his head.

“I’ll wrestle Ben,” Steve said without hesitation.

Ul blinked at him for a moment, clearly not expecting that response. He looked Steve over dubiously. “Ah...if you say so. Been a while since we’ve had some fresh tales around the campfire.”

Ben stood up, looking pleased. “No one ever chooses to wrestle.” He shifted the stump around, setting up their field of battle. He knelt, and placed an arm heavy with fat and muscle on it, ready to go.

Steve stepped up and knelt on the other side of the stump, rolling up his sleeve as he did so. The long sleeve of the peasant’s tunic that had covered his arms would only get in the way.

Ul frowned at the size of the arm that was no longer hidden. That wasn’t the arm of a hungry peasant; it wasn’t even the arm of a well fed knight. That was...well, Ben was still bigger.

“Best of three?” Steve asked.

“Why not?” Ben answered. “I’ll go easy on the first one even.”

“I won’t,” Steve said. “Ready?”

Ben laughed. “Ready,” he said, taking Steve’s hand.

There was a whump, as Ben’s hand crashed into the stump. He blinked, before scowling. “Ok, mebbe I wasn’t ready. That’s still only one. Go again.”

Ul’s frown deepened, while Naerys hid a smirk, visions of raking in coin playing tavern strong man games crossing her mind.

“Best of three,” Steve agreed, a friendly smile on his face.

They reset, and this time Ben squared his body to the stump, setting his shoulder. “Ready,” he said, and immediately began pushing.

Steve didn’t budge. “Sure, I’m ready,” he said, and then he began pushing.

Unlike the first round, Ben’s defeat was slow. Inexorably, his arm tilted back, forced down slowly but without mercy. Sweat beaded at his brow and his face turned red as Steve pushed against him, no sign of effort on his face. After several long, drawn out seconds, Ben’s hand gently hit the stump. He let go of Steve’s hand and grimaced, clutching at his bicep.

“You’re right,” Steve said, getting to his feet. “That was much harder when you were ready for it.” He dusted his knees off. “So, about that party of riders?”

Ul blinked, glancing at Ben with an incredulous look on his face. “Ah. Right. The riders we saw were camped about a day’s walk up the path,” he said, pointing with his thumb. “There’s a river that splits just off the path, and they’re camped against it. They looked like they’d be there for a day or two, so if you hurry, you might catch ‘em.”

“Appreciate it,” Steve said. “Fellas.” He gestured to Naerys, who nudged the horse into a walk.

Ben and Ul stepped aside to let them through, still thrown by the change in their script. Naerys did not deign to look at them as they passed, and soon they had left the two men behind.

“That was...interesting,” Naerys said.

“One word for it,” Steve said. “I’m not sure I like leaving knowing that they’ll pull that on the next travelers they see.”

“And how would you stop them?” Naerys asked.

Steve sighed in noisy agreement. “I know. Not like they’ve done anything wrong.”

“We have an idea of where your shield is now,” Naerys said in encouragement. “We could catch them tonight.”

“With luck,” Steve said, straightening. He frowned. “Strange how they decided to stop and camp though.”

“Something to ask them when we catch them and get your shield back,” Naerys said.

Steve nodded, and once more broke into a steady jog, the horse breaking into a steady canter. Their goal was in sight.

Back with the men who had so briefly waylaid them, Ul turned on Ben the moment they were out of sight. “Did you let him win?”

Ben scowled. “Nah. I didn’t.”

“Shite.” Ul ran a hand over his face. “Boss will want to know about this.”

A third voice came from the trees. “You’re the ones who’ll have to tell him,” an older man said, grey of hair. “Should have signalled for me to shoot him.”

“Not worth it Fletcher,” Ul said. “He weren’t a pampered noble or rich merchant.”

Fletcher shrugged. “Let’s go see Simon. He’ll want to know about that camp too.”

Without further discussion, the three men stepped off the path and vanished into the woods, birdsong the only sign of life to be seen.

X x X

Night had fallen by the time they found the camp. Steve could make out the smouldering embers of a few campfires through the trees the camp was mostly concealed within, although if there was any conversation around them it was drowned out by the bubbling of the river they were camped beside. He stood alone in the shadow of a broad tree, counting the sentries, more due to habit than anything. He did not plan on attacking the camp outright. No, he would walk up to them and politely ask they return what was his. What happened next was on them, but just in case, he had donned his armour and held the heavy hammer they had taken from Sharp Point easily in one hand. After some weeks in rough, poorly spun clothing, being back in his gear was a comfort.

Naerys was watching the horse a short ways back, far enough not to be heard should it grow irritable. They had both agreed that there was little point in her accompanying him. Steve shook out his shoulders and pulled the strap of his helm tight. He had placed all the sentries. It was time to say hello.

As he approached, the first sentry to spot him made no alarm of it, instead ducking back through the trees to carry a quiet warning to those in the camp. He likely would have gone unseed by a normal man, but Steve was not a normal man. He watched the sentry creep through the shadows, and if he focused, could hear the crunch of soft soled boots in the dirt as the man hurried ahead. It was not until he was only a stone’s throw from the camp that he was challenged in his approach.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

Steve paused in his approach as a man in gleaming plate armour stepped out to meet him, flanked by a pair of soldiers on each side. The four soldiers were armoured in duller steel that looked more standard issue, but all had a symbol of what looked like a three headed dragon on their chests.

“My name is Steve Rogers. I think you have something that belongs to me.”

The man who had challenged him frowned. The quality of his armour suggested he must be a knight, although he was missing his helm and gauntlets. His hair was pale, and his eyes a light purple. “We are no thieves, ser. We are Knights of the Kingsguard.”

Steve inspected his foes quickly. The knight looked to have been caught as he was removing his armour, although a sword as sheathed at his hip, and he could hear hurried movement in the camp. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it,” he said dryly.

The knight’s frown deepened, becoming almost offended. “Lay down your weapon and we can discuss this further.”

Steve took in the men he could see before him slowly fanning out, and listened to the two slowly creeping around behind him. “No, I don’t think I will.”

The knight glanced at a man on either side of him. “Take him for questioning,” he said.

Two men stepped forward, one drawing a wooden cudgel as they stepped forward to flank him. Whatever they were expecting from Steve, they didn’t get it. The star spangled man lunged for the soldier with the cudgel and lifted him by the neck with one hand to throw him into the other. They went down in a pile of limbs and curses as Steve sprang back, ready for the others to respond.

The knight’s hand was already on his sword, and Steve spun his unwieldy hammer like it was weightless. A slow rasp sounded as the knight began to draw a pale sword.

“Hold!” A newcomer strode forward from the camp, another knight in the same gleaming armour. This one was older, with a trimmed white beard and piercing blue eyes. His face was weathered, but still full of vitality. “What is it you seek in the Kingswood, and who are you to not recognise the Kingsguard?”

Steve hesitated, lowering his hammer slightly. The pale haired knight allowed his sword to fall back into its sheath with a shnk. “I am following my shield. It was stolen from me by Captain Bar Emmon, and it bears my symbol,” he said, tapping the white star on his chest. “I am not from these lands.”

The two knights exchanged a glance. “We are no thieves,” the elder knight said, repeating the words of his comrade. “Who do you serve?”

“I am Captain America,” Steve said. “I serve the people.”

The men Steve had toppled had gotten back to their feet and were looking belligerent, but hesitated at his words.

“If we invite you into our camp as our guest, do you give your word to behave as one?” the older knight asked.

The way the knight asked seemed to give the words weight, and Steve nodded slowly. “I will treat you as I am treated,” he said slowly.

The elder knight glanced at the younger, and received a nod in return. “Then be welcome in our camp,” he said, before turning his back and leading the short distance into the camp proper.

Steve followed, listening to the footsteps of the knight and soldiers as they followed in turn. None thought to take advantage of his turned back, and as they kept their distance a faint knot of tension in Steve’s gut eased. Maybe they were on the up and up.

The camp was in no way distinct from the hundreds that Steve himself had set up over the years. A few groups of tents clustered around a few campfires, even if some were larger and of better quality than others and bore symbols upon them. Add in Dugan swearing over a cooking pot or Morita fiddling with a damaged radio and he could be back in the War.

The knight he was following took a seat on a log by the fire, and gestured for Steve to join him. He did so across the fire from him, and they were soon joined by the other knight who sat to Steve’s right and his comrade’s left, while the soldiers loosely surrounded them, several paces back from the fire. Around them, the camp was waking, soldiers who had bedded down for the night stirred by the commotion of Steve’s arrival. Heads were poked out of tents, some returning to their rest when they saw peaceable discussion, others lingering to watch.

A third knight emerged from one of the more elaborate tents, his stride hurried. At his heel was a blond youth pulling a gauntlet strap tight with his teeth. They both stopped suddenly as they saw Steve sitting at the fire, the tension that came from anticipating an impending fight leaking from their stances.

“I am Ser Barristan Selmy, Knight of the Kingsguard of His Grace King Aerys of House Targaryen, the Second of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Captain of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm,” he rattled off. “This is Captain Sumner Crakehall his squire, Jaime Lannister. You have already met Ser Arthur Dayne, my fellow Kingsguard, Sword of the Morning, and leader of this expedition.”

Crakehall took a seat to Steve’s left, across from Dayne, while the boy Jaime stood at his shoulder. Crakehall looked to be only slightly older than Selmy, but lacked the vitality that the other man possessed.

“I am Captain America, of the United … Kingdoms of America,” Steve said, stumbling when he realised he didn’t know the Westerosi word for ‘state’.

“Hail and well met, Captain America,” Dayne said. “Where are your United Kingdoms? I have never heard of such lands.”

“Over the sea and far away,” Steve answered. “Westeros does not appear on any of our maps, and America would not appear on any of yours.”

“What brings you to our shores?” Selmy asked.

“Chance,” Steve said. “There was...a battle, and I washed up near Sharp Point some weeks ago.” With each question and answer, the wariness of both parties was lessening, and hands were allowed to leave weapon hilts.

“And what brings you to our camp, armed and clad in strange armour?” Crakehall asked. Green eyes gazed upon him, suggesting that even if his strength was deserting him, his wit was not. “Even if you did not attempt to mask your approach.”

“When I washed ashore, I was very weak,” Steve said. “As I was nursed back to health, Bar Emmon decided that he was entitled to my shield. It is important to me. To America. He sent a party of men to deliver it to your King. I was told that you were those men.”

The three knights exchanged glances, and Crakehall failed to hide a grimace. “We saw a party of men under the swordfish banner this morn, before lunch, but did not make ourselves known to them.”

“Then they are less than a day ahead,” Steve said, eyes narrowed in consideration.

“Who told you that we were those who you sought?” Dayne asked.

“I met two men on the road,” Steve said. “A large man with a fighting hammer called Ben, and a thin man with a scratchy beard and a bow called Ul.”

“Big Belly Ben and Ulmer,” Selmy said, stroking his beard.

Crakehall spat into the fire at Ben’s name. “We’re closer than we thought then.”

“You know them?” Steve asked.

“They are two of the men we seek,” Dayne said. “They belong to a group known as the Kingswood Brotherhood who have been abducting nobles for ransom and robbing merchants. The King dispatched us here to bring them to justice.”

“Do they have reason to hate nobles?” Steve asked.

“Their leader, Simon Toyne, is of a disgraced House,” Crakehall said. “Regardless of the causes of their fall, Simon at least has proven unworthy of nobility, as it were.”

Pursed lips and furrowed brows were the only response from Selmy and Dayne, something holding their tongues.

“As for the rest, they make sport of the nobles they capture. My other squire was captured in a skirmish, and when I ransomed him, they had burned a brand into his arse,” Crakehall continued, a scowl on his face. “And that’s before you consider the acts of their ‘Smiling Knight’. Do not doubt, they’ve earned their sentence.”

“You have the bearing of a warrior, Captain America,” Dayne said, looking at him consideringly, “and these men tried to set you against us. Would you consider joining us as we hunt them?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “My help with this Brotherhood in return for my shield?”

Dayne looked uncomfortable. “I cannot speak for the King, but I would not think to hold it over your head.”

“If your shield bears your sigil as you say, I will speak on your behalf,” Selmy added.

“You’re a Captain in a strange land,” Crakehall added. “It won’t hurt you to gain favour with the King.”

Steve rubbed his jaw, considering the offer. Joining them would ensure that his shield would reach the King before he could intercept it, leaving it out of reach of easy retrieval, but it would also increase his chances of simply having it returned to him, rather than having to take it by force. “I’ll join with you,” he said. He reached over to Dayne, offering him his hand.

Bemusedly, Dayne grasped the offered hand, and Steve shook it firmly.

“We were starting to run low on supplies anyway,” Steve said. He unclipped his chin strap and doffed him helm, freeing his hair to the night air. There was a brief pause as those watching took in his appearance.

“‘We’?” Crakehall asked.

“My friend,” Steve said. “You fellas mind if I call her in?”

“By all means,” Dayne said.

Steve pursed his lips and let out a whistle of birdsong, high and long.

“Rider approaching camp,” a sentry called from the trees.

Several long moments later, the slow trot of hoofbeats could be heard from the trees, and Naerys emerged from the darkness atop the horse. She approached cautiously, dismounting only when she saw Steve sitting by the fire.

“Naerys,” Steve said, gesturing for her to sit by him. A soldier took the reins of the horse as she did so. “This is Arthur Dayne, Barristan Selmy, Sumner Crakehall and his squire Jaime Lannister.”

Naerys, who had almost taken a seat on the log beside Steve, jolted back to her feet and attempted a curtsey in her trousers, before settling for a bow. “Honoured, Captains,” she stammered.

“This is Naerys Waters,” Steve continued. “She nursed me back to health after I arrived and taught me your language.”

The boy, Jaime, was grinning about something, while Crakehall looked like he had smelt something unpleasant. The two Kingsguard both inclined their heads in greeting.

“You must hold her in high regard,” Selmy said.

“I owe her a debt, and she can’t return to her home because of my actions,” Steve said.

“Her home...at Sharp Point?” Selmy asked.

“I may have been less than polite when I met Bar Emmon,” Steve admitted.

“There were no deaths, I hope,” Crakehall said with a frown.

“No,” Steve said. “Killing is not my first resort.”

“Captain Bar Emmon is my cousin,” Naerys said, interjecting quietly. “He stole what was rightfully Captain America’s and sought to marry me to a merchant against my will.”

“Then with your aid here, there should be nothing to forgive for any disagreements,” Dayne said. “Have you eaten this eve?”

“Just a light snack before approaching your camp,” Steve said.

“Tobin!” Dayne called, and a man without armour approached the fire. “A meal for our guests, and have a tent prepared for them.”

“Aye ser,” Tobin said, ducking away to do so.

“I will show him our bedrolls,” Naerys said, rising to follow him. With another curtsey bow, she left Steve alone.

“With all that sorted,” Crakehall said, “it’s time to get me back out of this armour and into bed. Come, squire.” The knight rose and headed for his tent, already tugging at a strap to his armour. Jaime followed in his wake.

“We plan to move at first light tomorrow,” Selmy said. “We believe we know where the Brotherhood’s camp is.”

Steve nodded. “I’m no stranger to early rises.”

“Most importantly,” Dayne said. “I need to know that you can follow orders. On the battlefield there is little time for rank.”

“I understand,” Steve said. “I’m a soldier. I can follow orders.” ‘Well,’ he thought, ‘when they’re worth following, anyway.’

“Good,” Dayne said. “Then I shall retire for the evening, if you are satisfied with our arrangement.”

“I’m happy, but I think I’ll sit by the fire a while,” Steve said, looking to the still smouldering embers.

A look passed between the two knights, and then Dayne was departing, heading for his tent.

“It must be something of a shock, I wager,” Selmy said. “Finding yourself in a land so far from home.”

“Far from home is one way to put it,” Steve said, eyeing the old knight. Something about the man reminded him of Colonel Phillips.

“It must be quite strange,” Selmy said. “It’s clear your home has very different ways of doing things.”

“How so?” Steve asked.

“You introduced four men of noble birth to a bastard born girl,” Selmy said without rancor, “rather than the reverse. There are some who would take great offence to such things.”

Steve let out a great breath. “I’ve never much been one for doing things ‘the right way’, even back home.”

“Strange to see in a Captain of a realm,” Selmy said.

“Just means not many can call me out on it,” Steve said with a grin.

Selmy chuckled. “The privilege of rank. But should you find yourself at court, you may be better served to err on the side of courtesy.”

“What is the King’s court like?” Steve asked. Naerys had told him the basics of the Kingdoms, but a man like Selmy would know more about the richer end of town.

“It is much like any court, I suppose,” Selmy said after a short pause. “The courtiers jockey with each other for position and influence, the nobles petition the King, and the servants carry out their tasks.”

“I can imagine,” he said, thinking to the few times he had seen Tony or Pepper at work, meeting with subordinates or competitors. “What about your King? What is he like?”

The knight hesitated longer this time. “The King is the King,” he said. “It is not my place to discuss or lay judgement upon him.”

“I see,” Steve said. He ran a hand through his hair. After weeks on the road, it was not as groomed as it once was, with only a knife to trim or shave. “What about the Kingdoms?” He bit his tongue before offering up word of Earth in exchange. Thanos wasn’t a topic easily broached when you were trying to coax information on the local political situation out of a stranger.

“The Kingdoms are the Kingdoms,” Selmy said, more easily this time. “The Dornish are prickly, the North standoffish, gold flows from the Westerlands...there have been betrothals announced, between names you will not recognise, gossips and feuds...we are in a time as unremarkable as any other, and if the Seven are willing, it will stay that way.”

“You sound happy to live in uninteresting times,” Steve said.

“Uninteresting is safe,” Selmy said. “Uninteresting means no one is kidnapping the king, and disputes over borders are kept to quill and parchment. Young knights hate it of course.” He shared a grin with Steve as the fire sparked and cracked. “But there is a grand tourney to be held at the castle of Harrenhal within the year, and it shall be a tourney for the ages. The prize purses are said to be magnificent.”

“Prize purses,” Steve said.

“Yes, I thought that might gain your interest,” Selmy said.

“Washing ashore with nothing but my arms and armour has a way of bringing money to mind,” Steve said dryly. “What would I need to compete?”

“So long as you are not an outlaw or otherwise feuding with the host, you would be welcome,” Selmy said. “You do not even need to be a knight. There may be an entry fee, and Captain Whent may choose to restrict the joust, but the meanest hedge knight to the greatest Kingsguard will seek to be there.”

“Sounds like quite the event,” Steve said.

“Victory in even a minor event would likely be enough to secure your way home,” Selmy suggested.

Steve sighed. “Maybe,” he said.

The manservant that Dayne had dispatched earlier returned. “Sers, a tent has been prepared for the Captain America, and the...Lady Waters had us arrange a dividing cloth for it.” He trailed off at the end, voice almost questioning.

“Thank you,” Steve said politely. An amused glint crossed Selmy’s eyes.

“Food has also been set aside for you, and the cook’s boy will wait on you,” Tobin said, before bowing and stepping away.

“I shall take my leave as well,” Selmy said, rising to his feet. “We have an early start, and I am not the young man I once was.”

“Good evening, Sir Selmy,” Steve said.

“Captain America,” the knight said, inclining his head. He made his way to his own tent, being met halfway by the boy Jaime.

Steve stared into the fire for several long minutes, considering his new situation. Letting his shield slip further from his reach didn’t sit right in his gut, but he didn’t like his chances of getting it back peaceably either. An introduction to this King Aerys from the man’s own personal guards would hopefully see the man well disposed to him, especially if Bar Emmon had sent word about their little disagreement.

As for the Brotherhood...from what Naerys had told him, they were just bullies with a grudge to grind, and he knew how to deal with bullies. He rose, heading for the tent that had been set up for them. Dinner and bed was sounding pretty good right now.

X x X

The next morning saw Steve and Naerys sharing a warm breakfast of porridge and ham as the camp bustled quietly around them, the first rays of dawn drifting through the trees. His armour he had already donned, save for his helm and gloves. He scratched at his beard; as soon as he came into some money he could have to see about a straight razor. A beard was just a nuisance with his chin strap.

He could see the knights finishing their own breakfasts, but they had yet to put on more than the padding for their armour, save the kid who had on some chainmail. He didn’t envy them; his armour was light as a feather and definitely stronger besides. He’d take something Tony cooked up in his workshop over anything some blacksmith could make any day.

He frowned at the thought of Tony. Ending up in this strange land was better than dying, which he had half expected when he and Thor stepped in to stop Tony from definitely killing himself by jumping on that grenade. He could only trust that if he had survived, so had they.

“You shouldn’t look so worried,” Naerys said, breaking his reverie. “I’ve seen what you can do, and I don’t think anyone can match you.”

“Hmm? No,” Steve said. “Just thinking about my friends.”

“My father always told me to stay in the moment,” Naerys said, gaze far away. “Worry about what you can change, accept what you cannot.”

“Sounds like a wise man,” Steve said. “You’ll be ok staying here?”

Apparently, the plan was to leave the servants and camp followers here with enough soldiers to protect them, while the knights and the rest of the soldiers brought battle to the Brotherhood in their camp, finally discovered after months of searching and winning over the people who lived in the forest.

“I’d be a sight out of place riding to battle with you,” Naerys said. “Are women not kept away from the fighting in your lands?”

“Some of the most dangerous people I’ve ever met were women,” Steve said, finishing the last of his porridge. He smirked a little, remembering the first time he had ever held his shield and Peggy had shot at him. “I know better than to underestimate them.”

Naerys stared into her porridge. “Would you teach me to fight?”

“Sure,” Steve said, making Naerys start. “We can make a start tonight. I’ll show you the basics.”

Naerys gaped at him for a moment, before closing her jaw.

“Have you ever been to King’s Landing?” Steve asked.

“This is my first time past Castle Wendwater,” Naerys said.

“Do you think you could speak with the servants, get an idea of the city? I’d rather not go in blind,” Steve said, getting to his feet and pulling on his gloves, helm tucked under one arm.

“I can do that,” Naerys said, nodding. “Be careful, Steve.”

“I’m always careful,” he said, and then he was leaving, heading for his horse.

Naerys shook her head. As if she hadn’t seen him manhandle a noble in his own castle, and then walk out like he ruled the place.

Within half an hour, the knights were mounted and leading the sortie out into the woods, some twenty men marching at their backs. The soldiers all bore the same dull curaisses Steve had seen on the sentries last night, under which they wore a red and black doublet. Arthur Dayne led them, with Captain Crakehall at his side and Jaime Lannister behind them. Unlike the Kingsguard in their simple gleaming steel and white cloaks, Crakehall wore fine embossed armour and a brown cloak bearing a brindled boar, but was overshadowed by his squire’s shining golden armour and cloak of crimson and gold. Steve found himself behind the kid who looked more like a prince than a squire, riding beside Barristan Selmy on the horse he had appropriated from Bar Emmon.

Selmy watched him with a keen eye as they set out at a steady pace, fast enough to eat up the miles but not so quick as to exhaust the men marching behind them. “You are not an experienced rider,” he said, starting a quiet conversation after they had left the camp behind them.

“No,” Steve said. “I never had need to learn how.”

“Truly?” Selmy asked, an eyebrow rising in surprise. “Your realm has no cavalry tradition?”

“Our fights are...different,” he decided upon. Explaining modern warfare to a society of swords and shields was tricky. “For a long time, we didn’t need to deploy anything like our entire army, and our battles were fought on foreign lands.” He wasn’t going to even attempt to explain the difference between a war and a ‘policing action’, let alone the ethics of some of the things America had gotten into while he had been in the ice. “Then it became an era of champions, with single fights deciding everything.”

“And you were the greatest of them, to be named Captain America,” Selmy said, with an air or realisation.

Steve barked a short laugh. “No, I might have led them, but I was not the greatest. We were all great in our own ways…” he trailed off, thinking of a hundred different moments in battle and in peace with the men and women how made up the Avengers.

Selmy watched him, regarding him like a puzzle. “I saw the way you seized that sentry last eve and threw him,” he said. “That is a rare strength.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve had my ass kicked plenty of times,” Steve said with a smirk.

“Tales to share as we toast to our victory tonight, perhaps,” Selmy said.

“I’ll share mine if you share yours,” Steve said.

“Ha!” Selmy said, causing Lannister to glance back over his shoulder at the unexpected noise. “No one has ever asked me for my defeats, only my triumphs.”

“I mean, if they’re too embarrassing to share…”

A startled snort escaped the older knight, and Steve relaxed as he fell into a familiar pattern of banter with a fellow soldier as they travelled. The kid in front of them did his best to listen in without being obvious about it, as they exchanged tales of daring rescues of kings and soldiers, and past campaigns.

It was less than an hour later that Dayne called a halt to allow the men to gather their strength before the final approach to the Brotherhood camp. Steve joined the knights in dismounting to stretch their legs out as the soldiers rested, while a few kept watch under the kid’s direction. Dayne began discussing something with a sergeant of the men.

“Do you expect they’ll attack the camp while we’re gone?” Steve asked Selmy. “It was two of them who pointed it out to me.”

“I don’t expect they will,” Selmy said, stroking his beard. “For all they are outlaws and brigands, Simon Toyne still holds to the trappings of nobility, and for all his derangement, the Smiling Knight has a twisted sense of chivalry, and the rest will not go against them. Should they attack, there are men enough to force them back, but I think they will give battle to us.”

“How does a noble end up leading an outlaw gang kidnapping nobles?” Steve asked.

Selmy considered his answer for a moment. “His ancestors were ill treated by a past King. They also broke their oaths and brough great dishonour upon themselves in their attempt to redress their ill treatment.”

“And this Smiling Knight? What’s his story?” Steve asked. If life in the 21st century had taught him anything, it was always to be wary when folk ended up with a Name.

“No one knows for sure,” Selmy said. “The man has introduced himself as a member of half a dozen different Houses, with a different tale for each one.”

Their conversation was interrupted as Dayne approached them, finished with his discussion. “Captain America,” he said, “Ser Barristan has told you of Toyne and the Smiling Knight, and you have met Ulmer and Big Belly Ben, but there are three other members that must be brought to justice - they are Fletcher Dick, an aged man of great skill with the bow, Oswyn Long Neck the Thrice-Hanged, and Wenda the White Fawn. All are dangerous, and all have earned the rope if they survive the battle. There are some one score and ten more, but they are less infamous.”

“What are their crimes?” Steve asked.

“Breaking the King’s Peace, murder, rape,” Dayne said, face grim. “They have branded every noble who has been ransomed from them.”

This wasn’t America, this wasn’t even Earth. They had their own way of doing things here. Still, it might be the way things were done here, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Everyone deserved their day in court, even if only to give their victims closure. Executing someone, peasant or noble, without a trial was not just.

“I see,” Steve said, keeping his thoughts to himself. Now was not the time to voice them.

“We shall approach and envelop their camp, with we knights leading the charge. I shall have the centre, Ser Selmy the right, and Ser Crakehall and his squire the left,” Dayne said. “I do not know how you fight, so I will ask you to join Barristan on the right. Is this acceptable?”

A simple plan for a simple goal. Steve considered it in an instant before nodding. He hefted the hammer he had carried since Sharp Point, the weight of its crude metal head an afterthought.

The remainder of the break was spent giving orders and checking armour, the black humour of soldiers the world over being exchanged between men. Then the time came, and they reformed to make the final push towards the camp of the Kingswood Brotherhood. The familiar anticipation of a fight set his pulse to beating, offset this time by a curious sense of carefree looseness. He had no need to worry about a sniper hidden too far away for him to hear, no risk of someone with strange abilities appearing on the field to offer a new threat. He pondered as they rode, thinking of the battle to come. No simple outlaw could offer a real threat to him, and he would bet dollars to doughnuts that none amongst them could approach Nat or Clint for skill. Could he raise his hand against them when they were basically kids playing at war when compared to him?

His horse whickered, as if sensing his unease. He wasn’t going to go easy against someone fixing to put a sword through his stomach, he decided, but he wouldn’t go out of his way to kill either. Meeting them blow for blow was about as fair as he could get.

Ahead, the trees came to an end before an open field of tall grass. Dayne raised a gauntlet, calling for a sudden stop, and the column halted. Instinct, honed across countless battlefields, warned Steve of danger.

“We can’t linger here,” Steve said, eyes scanning the field. The grass rolled like the ocean, serene and uncaring. He glanced at Selmy; the older man had one hand on his sword hilt and was also scanning the field.

“There are three other approaches we could have taken to their camp,” Selmy said quietly. Despite his words, he didn’t relax.

Steve nudged his horse forward, coming up beside Dayne and Crakehall. “The longer we wait, the more likely they spring their ambush,” he said. “They’ll have archers in the far treeline--”

There was a twang, almost too soft for Steve to hear it, and a blur too fast to be seen clearly. Steve’s hand snapped out and seized the arrow from the air, inches from his throat.

There was a pause, and Steve could feel the eyes of the knights on him. “Never though party tricks with Clint would come in so handy,” he said to himself. His eyes narrowed as he stared across the field. He could see a man in mottled greens and browns perched in a tree, and he was stringing another arrow to his bow.

Holding the arrow out to his side like a dart, Steve flicked it back towards the archer. Had the man been half as far away, it might have come close, but as it was, it just disappeared into the sea of grass.

“Well, it was worth a shot,” Steve said. He glanced at his hammer for a moment, consideringly. Nah.

“Shields!” Dayne bellowed, waving the soldiers forward. As they streamed forward to form a wall, he swung clear of his horse. “Dismount! That’s Fletcher in the treeline. Ulmer and Wenda won’t be far.”

As he spoke, another arrow buzzed out to take a soldier in the shoulder, finding the gap between their still forming shield wall. The man grunted in pain, and struggled to keep his shield in place.

Dayne surged forward to take the weight. “Back you get Adamm, take the horses back into the cover of the trees.” The man obeyed, stepping out with a grimace.

The shield wall came together, two lines of ten men. Those in front held their shields forward, while those behind held them above. Steve dismounted and handed his reins to Adamm, taking cover behind the wall. He heard a thunk as an arrow buried itself in a shield.

“They want us to charge to come to grips, pick us off as we go and then swarm us as we get there,” Dayne called. “When I give the command, we advance at speed and give the whoresons what for.” Another arrow found a gap in the shield wall, but missed the soldiers and almost gave the Lannister kid a haircut. Dayne watched as Adamm got to cover with the horses. “Forward!”

The shield wall began to advance at a jog, the four of them who weren’t a part of it right behind it. Selmy was calm and collected, sword still in its sheath, while Lannister had a reckless grin on his face, his eyes bright with battle hunger. Steve couldn’t see Crakehall at the opposite end of the wall. They were already a quarter way across the field.

Something caught Steve’s attention at the corner of his eye; movement in the grass that didn’t flow with the wind. He looked, but there was nothing.

“I saw movement to the side, I’m on it,” Steve told Selmy, and he turned, picking up his pace.

“America, hold -” Selmy began.

Steve was gone, shedding the slow pace of their advance to something approaching an actual jog. For him, anyway. Another arrow buzzed towards him, but he parried it casually with his free arm. Armour designed by Tony Stark to block bullets deflected an arrow without a scratch, and then he was at the point he had seen something.

A dirty bandit in dirtier leathers stared up at him from where he was hidden beneath the surface of the grass, blinking in surprise. Steve’s eyes narrowed.

“Krauts in the grass!” Steve shouted as he punched the man, already turning as the man went limp. “They’re hiding in the grass!”

Two arrows shot towards him this time, one heading directly for the unprotected portion of his face. That one he caught, ignoring the other that bounced off his shoulder. Those archers were starting to piss him off.

A horn blast echoed from the treeline they were charging towards, and a dozen odd men rose from the tall grass, all of them on the soft side of the shield wall. From the trees, another dozen or so emerged, advancing in a crescent line to envelop the shield wall. In their centre was the man Steve had arm wrestled, Big Belly Ben, and next to him was a man in well worn plate armour with a brown beard and a crooked ruddy nose. He would bet that man was Simon Toyne. There were at least two archers in the treeline, which meant there was one yet to be found, as well as Oswyn Longneck and the Smiling Knight.

“Hold!” Dayne shouted. “Arrow!”

The shield wall halted, and folded at the middle, forming a triangle with shields on the two sides facing the trees with the knights making up the other side.

The men who were hidden in the grass were the immediate threat If they managed to overwhelm the three knights and the squire guarding the rear of the shield wall, the formation would be broken and they’d be picked off by the archers. Steve broke into a run, heading directly for a man wearing a red scarf around his neck. A shouted warning from another bandit got the man to turn to meet him, but by that time Steve was already upon him.

What Steve did wasn’t a body check, or a collision. It was simpler to say that Steve had somewhere to be, and this man had the misfortune to be in the way. He was on the ground before he realised what had happened, all sense knocked from him. Steve bent down to grasp him by his arm and leg, and the man’s scarf came loose to reveal rope scars. This must be the Thrice-Hanged.

Hoisting the man as he spun, Steve hurled him into another outlaw, ignoring yet another arrow that bounced off the back of his helmet. There was a clash of metal on metal as the first of the bandits reached Selmy, Crakehall and Lannister, only to find themselves outmatched. Steve turned to the next closest man, with a mind to repeat the process. At this point, he wasn’t sure why he bothered carrying the hammer.

Three more men fell to similar tactics, those who could still stand staggering drunkenly as they attempted to fight on. Steve nudged one of them as they fell in his general direction.

“Do yourself a favour and stay down,” he said. He ignored the voice in his head that sounded like Bucky laughing derisively at him. The ones who had tried their luck against the knights had fared less well, their lifeblood wetting the earth where they fell.

The sound of a splintering shield drew his attention, and he saw one side of the shield wall begin to collapse in on itself. Big Belly Ben was hammering away with his war hammer, breaking the line for his fellows. A soldier screamed, short and sharp, as an arrow sprouted from his eye, before dropping.

“Down shields, draw swords! FOR THE KING AND THE KINGDOMS!” Dayne bellowed, before doing so himself. His sword gleamed white as he drew it, lunging forward to pierce Ben in the gut. He was intercepted by Toyne, and their swords rang as their duel began.

The formation was as good as gone as all dissolved into a melee, and Steve swayed to let yet another arrow bounce off his shoulder rather than hit him in the teeth.

Those archers were turning into a real gosh darned nuisance. He needed to do something about them.

“Dealing with the archers,” Steve called to Selmy as he jogged past. He kicked a man who tried to stop him in the chest and the man collapsed, wheezing weakly.

Selmy spared him a glance and a nod as he fended off three men with ease, he and Crakehall keeping the kid between them. For all they were protecting him, the red on his blade said he could look after himself.

Steve broke into a sprint towards the trees, rapidly leaving the fight behind. He sidestepped an arrow, then another, while parrying the arrow that had expected the dodge with his arm. Then he was at the trees, one last arrow hitting the star on his chest uselessly. He didn’t bother attacking the man directly, Fletcher Dick by the descriptions, but instead used his hammer for the first time to shatter the branch the man rested on. The man dropped, landing awkwardly with a curse and a yelp of pain. Now, to find the other one.

A bowstring twanged, and he covered his face instinctively, blocking another arrow. “Starting to get real tired of this nonsense,” he said, peering over his arm in search of the other archer.

“Who the hell are you,” a voice, a woman’s, came from the trees. She was attempting to throw her voice, but Steve had been tricked by better.

“I’m Captain America,” he said. “You can call me Steve.” At his feet, Fletcher groaned, trying to nock an arrow as he lay flat on the ground. Steve stepped on his bow, pinning it to him. “Son, just don’t.”

“‘Son’?” Fletcher said. “I could be your grandaddy boy.” He pulled a knife and tried to stab Steve in the back of the knee, only for it to skitter aside. “What in the Seven Hells is this armour,” he complained.

Steve ignored his attempted distraction and listened as the woman he suspected to be Wenda the White Fawn stepped lightly across the tree branches, angling for a better shot at him. “How about we make this easier on the both of us,” he said, “and you just surrender.”

“Sure, I’ll surrender,” Wenda said, a sneer in her voice. “Surrender so they can hang me or cut my head off for doing no worse than nobles do to others.” Her bowstring twanged and Steve was forced to block another arrow with his arm.

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you started killing people,” Steve said.

“I’ve never killed no one who didn’t deserve it,” Wenda said, finally stepping into sight around a tree trunk. Her skin was fair, and her blonde hair was cropped short around her ears. “And them that got my brand earned it.”

“Have you ever considered talking through your differences?” Steve asked, hefting his hammer. Maybe he could throw it; he might be lucky enough to clip her.

“You’re not from round here, are you Steve?” Wenda asked, putting another arrow to her bow.

“What gave it away?” Steve said.

“You ain’t looking at me like you’re deciding how to fuck me once you bring me down,” she said, voice mocking.

A look of distaste crossed Steve’s face.

Wenda laughed at him. “Yeah, you’re not a normal noble. Probably woulda just let you go for the ransom.” She drew her bow once more, but this time she wasn’t aiming at Steve, she was aiming at the fight in the field. “I might not be able to hit you, but I can sure as hells hit one of that lot in the field. So here’s the deal. You let me and Fletcher go, and maybe I’m too busy dragging his ol’ carcass away to worry about how the fight is going.”

Steve hesitated, considering.

“Oh look, the Smiling Bastard has popped up too. Hope he doesn’t skewer too many of them,” Wenda said. Her voice was taunting, but Steve could see the fear in her eyes, and it wasn’t all reserved for him.

“I’ll step away from Fletcher, and you drop your bow and quiver,” Steve said. “Then, you get him on his feet and walk away.”

“So you can take me down easy?” Wenda said. “Not likely.”

“I give you my word that I will let you go,” Steve said, looking her dead in the eye.

Wenda grit her teeth, eyes darting between Fletcher and Steve. “Fuck. Fuck! Fine,” she said.” She tossed her bow towards him, and then her quiver, what arrows were left rattling in it. “Happy?”

“Yep,” Steve said. He took his foot off Fletcher, letting the man scramble back, bow left behind. “Don’t let me catch you doing this again.”

“Like my old fucking maester,” Wenda said, groaning. She dropped from her perch and darted forward to help Fletcher to his feet.

Steve gathered up the bows and quiver in one hand, watching the two outlaws as they limped away. Maybe he could’ve brought them both in, but something about it didn’t sit right with him. Maybe he was just too used to going after the bad guys he knew deserved it, and not the ones he was told were bad. He shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to get lost in his head. There was still a fight to win.

A pained shout drew his attention back to the battle. Whatever order had existed was gone, devolving into chaos. Soldiers and bandits struggled with each other in the dirt, a dozen small fights instead of one large one. Dayne was fighting Toyne and Ben at the same time, the slight edge he seemed to have over Toyne negated by the pressure of Ben’s warhammer, while Toyne stopped his ally from simply being skewered. Selmy and Lannister were fighting what could only be the Smiling Knight, a furious din of metal on metal ringing about them. The kid stood over his knight master, who lay in the dirt with an arrow sticking from his armpit. Two outlaws stood with the Knight, forcing his foes to stay near their fallen comrade. Off to the side, Ulmer stood, loosing arrows steadily to remove soldiers from the fight. If he was allowed to continue the Kingsguard knights would be buried by numbers.

Steve discarded his hammer and Wenda’s bow. He strung an arrow to Fletcher’s bow, testing the draw. It felt more like a child’s toy against his strength than a real weapon, but he could still feel the tension in it. He had used a bow all of once before, one afternoon in New York horsing around with Tony and Clint. Time to see what he remembered. He started advancing towards the fight.

His first shot missed Ulmer by about a foot, but it certainly alarmed the man. The bowman shifted his attention from Dayne and returned fire, hitting Steve right in the heart. The arrow was ignored as it bounced off his armour, little more than a punch in the chest. Steve’s next shot was much closer, carving a line across Ulmer’s cheek and tearing off his left earlobe. The bandit cursed and dove out of sight, under the cover provided by the grass. From the movement of it, he was scrambling to put the bulk of the fight between himself and Steve.

One final arrow was loosed into the grass, and then Steve would have to shoot through the fight if he wanted to continue harassing Ulmer. The knights were still stalemated against their foes, but it could not continue, and the soldiers and bandits were wearing each other down.

The fight was over, the men fighting just didn’t know it yet. The only question was how Steve chose to end it, and how many would fall before he did so.

There was something about the Smiling Knight that made Steve wary of him, made him pay attention to him even as he harried Ulmer. Something that said he was the most dangerous man on the field.

Aside from Steve himself, of course. He dropped the bow and the empty quiver and began to run, barehanded, at the man who bore a rictus of a grin upon his face as he duelled Selmy and Lannister at the same time. One of the bandits with him had collapsed after Selmy had scored a deep cut in his thigh, but the other still aided him. Steve closed the distance quickly, but the Knight saw him coming. Instead of continuing to rain blows upon his foes, he stepped back, putting his comrade between Steve and himself and leaving the man to face the two knights alone.

In the time it took to take a breath, the bandit’s throat and belly were cut open, and instead of barrelling into the Knight, Steve found his charge fouled by a corpse. He lashed out with a boot, sending the body flying into its treacherous leader. Whatever the Knight had expected or intended, it was not that, as he was almost bowled over by the force of the impact. Steve gave him no respite, following up with a flurry of kicks that had the Knight on the backfoot, almost falling backwards in his attempts to gain space.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the Knight said. His voice was shockingly normal, coming from a face that once might have been handsome, but had become twisted and queer. “This isn’t your story.”

“Maybe, but I’m the one telling you how it’s going to go,” Steve said. “You can surrender, or I can kill you. Make your choice.”

The Knight spat, and bashed his sword into his shield with a clang. “You are no Ser. I will eat your heart.” He lunged, sword tip seeking the exposed skin of Steve’s throat.

Steve shifted slightly, pushing the blade off target with one arm. Rather than lodge in his neck, it sailed over his shoulder, and the Knight was off balance as Steve lashed out with his other arm, punching him in the throat.

The Smiling Knight made a horrific gurgling sound as he collapsed, trying to catch himself with his shield. His grin never left his face, and he seemed split between attempting to laugh and force out some final words.

Steve turned his back on the dying man. Whatever they were, he had no time for them.

Selmy and Lannister regarded him for a moment, Selmy with a raised eyebrow and Lannister a gaping jaw.

“Jaime, guard Sumner,” Selmy said. “America, with me.”

Steve nodded, and together they turned for the last leaders of the Brotherhood. The two on one fight had slowed somewhat, each man growing fatigued. Selmy advanced to support Dayne, Steve at his side, and the look in Toyne’s eye said he knew it was over.

“You think you’re on the side of the Seven, here?” the leader of the Brotherhood spat, sword flashing frantically.

Steve slapped aside a hammer blow aimed at Selmy’s shoulder, forcing Ben away from the fight and leaving Toyne to fight against one against two.

“You think you have any honour when you serve that swine--” Toyne’s words were cut off as Dayne’s sword found his neck and severed it from his body.

“No!” Ben roared, bringing his hammer high over his head for a crushing blow. The hunk of metal came down to squash Steve’s head like a grape.

Not quite casually, Steve caught the head of the hammer in the palm of his hand, stopping the blow cold. He lashed out, aiming for the jaw this time, and Big Belly Ben fell like a tumbling tree.

The fall of the last of their leaders was enough to break the spirit of the remaining bandits. They turned, one and all, and sought to flee. Some were cut down as they tried, and some managed to escape the immediate melee, but they likely wouldn’t get far.

The battle was over, and the Kingswood Brotherhood was done for.

Dayne let out a long, slow breath, bringing his breathing under control. “That could have gone better,” he said, looking to the soldiers, scattered amongst the fallen. Some were still as the grave, but others were clutching at wounds and groaning in pain.

“I have medical training,” Steve said. “We need to perform-” he cut himself off as he failed to find the word for ‘triage’ “-the worst wounded, find them and tell me, I will do what I can.”

Dayne didn’t hesitate. “Hubert! Captain America has healing experience, find who is the worst wounded.”

“Aye ser!” one of the soldiers said, before dropping his weapons and running for his nearest fallen comrade. Two of his fellows joined his search, seeing to different men.

“Uthor! Go and see to Adamm, bring the horses back. We shall ride down those who seek to flee,” Dayne continued.

Steve was tapped on the shoulder, and turned to find the kid doing his best not to look concerned. “Captain America, my knight master--”

“Call me Steve, kid,” Steve said. “Where is he?”

The kid faltered for a moment, but pressed on. “Over here. He took an arrow to his armpit midway through the battle, but I could not say how bad the wound is.”

“Let’s see him then,” Steve said, and was led to the fallen knight. The man lay on the ground, watched over by a soldier with a wound to his stomach that was bleeding sluggishly. The arrow was in his left armpit, having somehow found the gap in his plate armour as well as piercing the chainmail beneath. There was no blood dripping down his armour, but that wasn’t a surety. “Crakehall, can you feel any wetness inside your armour?”

“I’ve not pissed meself yet boy, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Crakehall said, grumping.

“Any warmth spreading down your side from the wound?” Steve asked. If he knew the man better, he might have given him some cheek about his age.

“No, nothing like that,” Crakehall said. “I’m just having a bit of bother catching my breath.”

“Might be a pierced lung,” Steve said, tone absent.

Lannister bowed his head, and Crakehall let out a sigh.

“Stranger take all cowardly bandit archers,” the man ground out. “Jaime, I’ll ask you to witness for me.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, you’re not dead yet,” Steve said. “You can still talk and you’re not gasping for breath, so you might be fine. I’m not going to chance removing the arrow here though. Do you have a doctor at camp?”

“A what?” Crakehall asked.

“Someone who can heal and treat injuries,” Steve said.

“We’ve a sawbones and Torbin’s wife, who assisted a maester for a few years,” Lannister said.

“Better than nothing,” Steve said. “Do not move until we get a cart here to carry you, keep your breathing even and steady, and if we can get you out of your armour without aggravating the wound, that would be helpful.”

“I’m hardly going to go running off,” Crakehall said, scowling up at him, only to receive a smirk in return.

“Now for you, what’s your name son?” Steve asked the soldier with the stomach wound.

The soldier started at being addressed. “Jareth, Captain.”

“Did you eat any of that soup this morning?” Steve asked, eyeing the wound.

“Aye, Captain.”

“Call me Steve, easier than saying Captain all the time,” Steve said. He leaned in to sniff at the wound. “You’ll be fine. Staunch the bleeding with as clean a bit of cloth as you can find, and that will do until we get back to camp.”

“Thank you, Cap--Steve,” Jareth said, looking rather overwhelmed.

“Right, who’s next?” Steve asked, getting to his feet.

“This way Captain!” the call came from Hubert, waving him over.

“Aid him, Jaime,” Crakehall wheezed out. “A bit of healing knowledge will never hurt a knight to have.”

Lannister’s gaze, that had been considering Steve’s actions, shot to Crakehall’s face.

“Come on kid,” Steve said. “No rest for the wicked.” He was already striding to the next patient.

“If I am to call you Steve,” Lannister said, “you ought to call me Jaime.”

“Sure thing kid,” Steve said. He ignored the amusing flow of expressions that crossed Jaime’s face, crouching down beside Hubert to inspect the soldier. “Now this guy took a sword through his thigh, but he hasn’t died yet and the blood isn’t spurting out, so the artery is probably fine…”

Jaime nodded and did his best to absorb all he was told from the strangely garbed man who claimed to be a great champion from a foreign land. It would prove to be an educational afternoon.

X

Of the twenty men who had followed the knights into battle, the butcher’s bill came to be twelve wounded, three of who died of their injuries. Steve was strangely thankful that even had he had access to modern medical technology, they still would have died of their wounds. The soldiers who had pursued the fleeing bandits returned, swords bloody and spirits high. When they discovered how many of their friends had survived thanks to Steve’s aid, their spirits only increased. As he finished tying an empty sheath to a man’s broken leg, he stood and looked around. Jaime stood behind him, his golden armour more bloodied by the aftermath than the battle itself, while Selmy and Dayne were conferring quietly some distance away.

“Is that everyone?” Steve asked, raising his voice.

“Aye ser,” Hubert said. “We--”

“I could use some healin’!” a voice called.

Steve’s head swivelled towards the voice. It was familiar. “Stand and make yourself known!”

“Bit bloody hard with an arrow through me leg innit!”

Dayne gestured to two uninjured soldiers, and they advanced on the voice.

“Oi oi oi easy there you shits!”

Steve watched as Ulmer was lifted from where he had been hidden in the grass. An arrow could be seen, piercing the meat of his thigh, and he hopped along to keep his weight off it as he was dragged forward and dumped before Dayne.

“Ulmer,” Dayne said, drawing out the name. “I had wondered where you got to.”

“Did he say Ulmer?” Crakehall’s voice rose from where he lay. “Carry me to the pissant, I’m going to stab him.”

“Sorry about that, honestly,” Ulmer said, managing a grin despite the pain of his leg. “Smiler insisted on it. No hard feelings, aye?”

“Ulmer of the Kingswood Brotherhood,” Dayne said, talking over Crakehall’s infuriated shout. “You are charged with banditry, theft, abduction of the nobility for ransom, and of taking freedoms with the person of Princess Elia Martell. Do you have any last words?”

“Aye,” Ulmer said, straightening up as much as he could on one knee. “It was only a kiss, and I take the Black.”

Dayne frowned, and turned to speak to Selmy.

As they held a whispered conversation, Steve looked to Jaime. “What’s the ‘Black’ he wants to take?”

“Taking the Black is to renounce all other claims and responsibilities and join the Night’s Watch on the Wall, a structure that stretches across the North, from coast to coast,” Jaime said. “It was an honourable calling, once. Now it is filled with rapists and thieves too scared to die.”

“Can anyone escape punishment for their crimes like that?” Steve asked.

Jaime held back a snort. “From the tales one hears of the Wall, I would not say they escape punishment. Many men choose execution instead.”

“What about women?” Steve asked, thinking of Wenda.

An uncomfortable look crossed Jaime’s face. “Women...women are not permitted to join the Watch.”

Before Steve could ask further, Dayne turned back to Ulmer.

“Very well. You will join the Night’s Watch. Attempt to escape, and you will be killed.”

“Thankee great ser, thankee,” Ulmer said, giving a mocking bow as best he could. “Could someone help me with this arrow now?”

X x X

That night, tales are told and songs are sung, boasts are exchanged and ribbing is shared between friends. The men celebrate their victory and survival, as well as their share of the bounty found in the camp of the Kingswood Brotherhood. What had once been the ransom of nobles caught by the bandits would now go towards wine and women for the soldiers who had defeated them.

Beyond the coin and other valuables found in the camp, they were now host to a young woman and her chaperone, the Lady Jeyne Swann and what was as far as Steve could tell her personal nun. They were currently recovering from their ordeal, choosing not to be around a group of loud men despite being thankful for their rescue. From what Steve could gather, the worst they had suffered was rope burn from their bindings and perhaps fewer luxuries than they were accustomed to, and Naerys had chosen to eat with them.

A bonfire dominated the centre of the camp this eve, rather than a series of smaller ones, and most of the men surrounded it, feasting and drinking. Steve sat slightly further back, with Dayne, Selmy, and Jamie, talking quietly and discussing the events of the day.

“I must congratulate you on spotting the ambush within the ambush,” Dayne said to Steve. “Without that warning, we would have lost more men than we did.”

“I’ve been in a few ambushes in my time,” Steve said, “on both sides of the fight.”

“What makes you carry that hammer with you?” Jaime asked. He had a cup of wine in one hand, and his tongue was perhaps a bit freer than it would otherwise have been. “I don’t think I saw you use it once.”

“I needed a weapon, so I uh, borrowed it when we left Sharp Point,” Steve said.

“The Lannisters lost their weapon too you know,” Jaime said, speaking quicker than usual. “Did you lose your sword?”

“My shield is my weapon,” Steve said, catching the slight grins on the faces of the two knights as they watched Jaime. “Say, kid. Have you ever sold seashells by the sea shore?”

“Sheashells by shee sheashaw--” his face screwed up in disgust. “What?”

Steve grinned as Dayne allowed himself a chuckle.

“I did in fact see you use the hammer, America,” Selmy said, smiling at the joke. “That was a mighty blow you knocked that archer from the tree with. Who was it, and how did they escape you?”

“It was Fletcher Dick, and Wenda was there too,” Steve said. “I let them go, in the end.”

Smiles were fading now. “You let them go,” Dayne said. “Why is that?”

“I had Fletcher down, but Wenda had an arrow ready to loose at one of you. I didn’t like my chances of stopping her, so I prioritised keeping you all on the field over apprehending them. They promised to quit the battle if I let them go,” Steve said. He had made his choice, and he would not hide from it.

Glances were exchanged as brows furrowed. “It is true that had one of us fallen, the battle might not have gone so well,” Selmy allowed.

“There will be those who are not pleased that the White Fawn is still free,” Dayne said. “But the Brotherhood is destroyed nonetheless.”

Jaime was not so convinced. “But to retreat, she would have had to lose her shot. Why not take them then?”

"Ending the battle and saving lives was more important than capturing them,” Steve said. “I could have pursued them, but every moment I’m not helping end the fight, you and Selmy are fighting the Smiling Knight, and Dayne is going against Ben and Toyne, and Ulmer is picking off the men.” He nodded towards the celebration still going on as another song was picked up by the group. “When lives are in your charge, you protect them.”

“I see,” Jaime said, even as his tone disagreed with him.

Dayne glanced to Selmy, a questioning tilt to his head, and received a nod in return.

“You can ponder philosophy later,” Dayne said. “For now, come.” He got to his feet and stepped towards the fire.

Puzzled, Jaime rose and followed him, as the men quieted down as their leader stood before them.

“Men, we’ve done a great deed this day,” Dayne said, backlit by the flames. “Monsters have been slain, and noble and smallfolk alike have been made safe. But there is still yet one deed left to be done.”

Selmy took up Dayne’s pale sword from where he had left it, still sheathed, and tossed it towards him. Dayne caught it easily in one hand, and drew the blade free with a rasp.

“Kneel,” the knight said to the squire.

Jaime did not so much kneel as his legs fell out from under him in surprise.

“In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave,” Dayne began. His tone took on the cadence of well worn words, as he tapped his gleaming sword to Jaime’s right shoulder. “In the name of the Father I charge you to be just.” The camp was hushed, the only sound the crackling of the fire, as the sword was tapped to his other shoulder. “In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women.” Here Dayne paused, looking Jaime in the eye as if searching for something. After a long moment he nodded, and smiled. “Arise, Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Slowly, as if hardly daring to believe it real, Jaime rose to his feet. There was a moment more of silence, and then the men erupted with cheers.

From that point on, the celebration only grew. All those present knew they had been part of something that day, something that would be remembered in song for years to come. Dayne returned to Steve and Selmy to watch as Jaime embraced the cheers of the men, as well as the cups they pressed into his hands. The night wore on, and the enthusiasm the songs were sung with only increased, even if the quality suffered.

Steve watched with amused tolerance, remembering the ruckus his Howling Commandos had gotten up to in the war. Soon, they would reach the point where they insisted on drawing in what bystanders were not yet involved in their joy, and he meant to be in bed before then.

“Captain America! Steve!” Jaime shouted.

Oh no.

“We must have a song from you! From your homeland!” the kid shouted, well and truly drunk.

“He’d be delighted,” Selmy, the traitor, said, nudging him forward.

Steve was greeted with another cheer as he joined the ring around the fire, and a sea of expectant faces. He panicked, and began to sing the first song that sprang to his mind.

“Almost heaven, West Virginia

Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River

Life is old there, older than the trees

Younger than the mountains, growing like a breeze”

At least it wasn’t the song they’d written for his war bonds tour.

“Country roads, take me home

to the place I belong

West Virginia, Mountain Mama

Take me home, country roads...”

X x X

Steve may have let his shield slip further away, but he has participated in the destruction of the wicked Kingswood Brotherhood, and his actions have ensured the survival of those who might otherwise have perished. His defeat of the infamous 'Smiling Knight' will ensure his name goes down in song and is mentioned in the same breath as Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Barristan Selmy, and Ser Jaime Lannister for their contributions to the successful campaign. His actions have ensured a favourable introduction to His Grace King Aerys II, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, who must by now possess his shield. An otherwise chilly reception has been averted, as those who hear of his deeds with the Kingsguard will dismiss out of hand the words of Lord Bar Emmon as lies and calumny.

King's Landing lays over the horizon, and with it, the reclamation of his shield. It is yet to be seen if this reclamation will be as simple, or as peaceable, as might be hoped…