A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

Under the gaze of Robert Baratheon, Stannis limped his way down the gangplank, standing as straight and tall as he could manage with the aid of the crutch, Steve at his back. The rest of the riding party, nobles all, caught up just as they reached the stone of the pier, hooves clattering loudly. They grouped behind their lord, waiting.

“Brother,” Stannis said again as he came to a stop, Steve at his shoulder.

Robert was not a small man, and atop his horse he towered even higher. He looked down at his brother - at his missing leg - expression growing dark. “Stannis,” he said, “took you long enough.”

Steve couldn’t see the kid’s expression, but something about his shoulders said he wasn’t too happy.

“What happened to your leg?” the little boy sitting in front of Robert asked. He had the dark Baratheon look and the same blue eyes, and he couldn’t have been older than five.

“Seems he lost it somewhere, little brother,” Robert said, before Stannis could answer.

“That can happen?!” the boy asked, clutching at his leg.

“Only if you’re unfortunate,” Stannis said. “It is good to see you, Renly.”

“Welcome home, Stannis,” Renly said, with the air of rehearsal. He grinned as Robert tousled his hair.

“Rogers,” Robert said, turning to him now. His mount snorted and stamped, but a hand on its neck calmed it. “You’ve my thanks for escorting my brother to me.”

“Baratheon,” Steve said, inclining his head. “He would have gone alone if I’d let him.”

“Course he would’ve, he’s a Baratheon. And didn’t I say to call me Robert?” he asked.

“Didn’t I say to call me Steve?” Steve replied.

Robert snorted, though he seemed pleased. He looked up at the ship, scanning the deck, and a grin stole across his face. “I see your lady. Brandon was right then.”

Steve pulled a face.

“Robert,” Stannis said, a note of reproach in his voice.

The big stormlord raised his hands in surrender. “You sound like Uncle Harbert. I’ll not stand on ceremony where it’s not needed.”

There was a laugh from someone in the group behind him, the young lords apparently used to Robert’s attitude. It seemed to remind the man of their presence.

“Though, I suppose - Lord America, my loyal lords and companions,” Robert said, waving a hand to encompass them all. There were perhaps fifteen of them. “From the Marches to the Wendwater they hail, good men and true. Lads, this is Steve Rogers, the one who put me on my arse at Harrenhal.”

Steve nodded at the party. They all seemed to be the kind of young men looking to the coming war with eagerness, though there were one or two with a bit more seasoning to them. “Pleased to meet you,” he said politely.

“There’ll be time for proper introductions at the feast tonight,” Robert said, waving his hand dismissively. “Are you and yours ready to join me in Storm’s End?”

Steve turned, looking back to Keladry at the rail of the ship, and she gave him a nod, moving away. He turned back to Robert. “You’ve got room for one hundred odd soldiers in your castle?”

Robert’s eyes lit up as the thud of boots began to fill the air, and Steve’s men began to march off the carrack. A second, sturdier gangplank had been extended to the pier further down the ship, and now Keladry led the way across it, helm closed and her plate gleaming under the sun, glaive resting on her shoulder. At her back came soldiers.

In ranks four men wide they marched, brown brigandine worn proudly and spears on their shoulders in imitation of Keladry. Almost in lockstep they disembarked, dark sallet helms and navy gambesons lending them an air of professionalism, leather rucksacks sitting securely on their backs. The dog tags on their chests completed the picture as they headed down the pier towards the town.

“Not bad, America,” Robert said, drinking in the sight. He wasn’t the only one; his party showing interest as well. “Where’d you find them?”

“Here and there,” Steve said. “They’re Valemen mostly. Figure we can make a pain of ourselves to someone.”

“That’s never heavy infantry,” Robert said, still inspecting them. “Not meant to anchor a line…”

Steve shook his head. “Mounted quick reaction and spoilage. Don’t suppose you have any horses available to buy?”

Robert snorted. “Pheh, ‘buy’ he says. We’ll speak on this at the feast.” He blinked as a nearby cry of joy caught his ear, then another and another, and he turned to see what it was.

The two galleys had docked at smaller piers by now, sailors tying them off. There was a rush of movement upon them, and men began to boil out of it, many falling to their knees as they stepped onto dry land as freemen.

“Speaking of favours,” Steve said. “Do you have anywhere to house three hundred or so freed slaves?”

Robert’s brows shot up as he understood what he was seeing. “Is that-?”

Stannis nodded. “We were set upon by pirates on the final leg of our voyage. In the name of House Baratheon, Lord America objected.”

A guffaw was his answer. “I think we’ll start this feast early just so you can share the tale with me,” Robert said. “Lord Fell! You’ve the best head for this sort of thing. Can I trust you to establish a camp for this happy sorry lot?”

One of the older men in the group of nobles nodded, fist going to his breast. “Aye, Lord Baratheon. I’ll see it done.”

Apparently satisfied that it would be seen to, Robert turned back in time to see the last of the soldiers pass by. Robin was amongst them, standing out by virtue of the bow on his back, and he couldn’t help a small grin at Steve as he passed.

“That’s the lad from the archery, aye?” Robert asked. “Your servant?”

“My squire now,” Steve said.

“Huh,” Robert said.

“It was he who killed the men who took my leg,” Stannis said.

Robert grunted, a frown crossing his face briefly. “I picked up a squire of my own, you know.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked. From the way Stannis’ brows shot up, this was unexpected. “Did you plan on it?”

“Not at all,” Robert said. “Spirited little bugger though. Fairly sure he snuck away to join the war.”

“How old is he?” Steve asked.

“Oh, twelve or so,” Robert said. “I haven’t asked. He was cleaning my armour and fetching my hammer before I even realised what had happened.”

“I guess they have a way of sneaking up on you,” Steve said, and Robert laughed, maybe more than the comment warranted. Whatever had set him off, it took him a moment to get himself under control.

The troops were into the town now, and the clop of horseshoes announced the disembarkation of what mounts they had, Toby leading the way on Redbloom. Naerys was there on Swiftstride, and so were Betty and her girls, much more comfortable ahorse than they had been only a month ago. Near every horse without a rider was loaded with bags and supplies, though there would be more to unload later. Dodger could be seen sitting on Fury’s back, surveying all before him.

Brooklyn broke off from the small herd without direction, as did another horse. The grey palfrey that had belonged to Darry nosed his pocket as she reached him, looking for treats.

Robert was looking at Stannis as the kid stroked the neck of his horse. “Can you- do you want-”

Stannis ignored him, putting his weight on his crutch with one arm while he put his foot into the stirrup, before pulling himself up into the saddle. The crutch went into a sleeve at its flank. He turned his gaze on his brother, expectant and challenging.

If he was looking for a reaction, he didn’t get it, Robert turning to Naerys as she joined them. “Lady Naerys!” he said with a grin.

“Lord Baratheon,” Naerys said, bowing in her saddle. Lyanna was at her shoulder. “We thank you for opening your home to us.”

“Bah,” Robert said, waving her off. “It’s times like these that you know your true friends. If I can trust you with my brother, I can trust you with my silverware.”

“Though perhaps not our armour,” one of the nobles with him quipped.

Robert chortled, pointing at the man. “I had forgotten about that! You know what, forget the feast tonight, we should just start when we arrive.”

The declaration was well received amongst the men, and all seemed ready as Steve mounted up.

“To Storm’s End!” Robert declared, wheeling his mount around. Stannis fell into place at his right, and Steve found himself gestured forward to his left. He raised a hand to Walt, remaining behind to oversee the details, and received one in turn. Then they were away, cantering back through the town and onwards to the castle.

It did not take them long to overtake the column of Steve’s troops, a short ways down the road between town and castle. There was no cloud of dust for them to worry about thanks to recent rains, and it seemed they would soon leave them behind even at their easy pace. Then there was a whistle and a stern command.

Robert looked back to see the armoured men break into a jog, and turned a raised brow at Steve. “What’d they do to deserve that?”

“They signed up with me,” Steve said, earning another laugh.

They continued along the road. The castle of Storm’s End itself was upon a cliff looking out over the sea, while the town was in the bay below it, resulting in a looping path that first led away from the castle before sweeping back towards it to avoid a horrifically steep incline. Even so, it was still no gentle rise.

“Gods, you sure you need mounts for that lot?” Robert asked several minutes later. Before him, Renly was twisting around and craning his neck to try to see what his brother was looking at.

The men were still jogging steadily, falling behind but only slightly. The sound of a marching cadence could be heard faintly.

“Are they singing?” Robert continued, incredulous.

“We’re eight miles down and I’m having fun,

Halfway done this fucking run.”

“Good for the lungs,” Steve said. “Can’t expect to have the enemy chasing their tails if they think they can catch us.”

Robert continued to listen, even slowing a touch so he could hear it better. He chuckled at some of the words. “I want one for my men,” he declared.

“Sit down with a drink and a quill and see what comes to mind,” Steve said.

The stormlord pulled a face. “I’m more able to kill a man with a quill than write a song with it,” he said.

“You could always set the men loose at it, but it won’t be anything you can speak of in polite company,” Steve said.

The ride didn’t make for easy conversation, so they rode on, eventually cresting the headland that led to the castle proper. Steve took it in with a soldier’s eye. Though the land was even and grassy here, the closer they got to the castle the narrower and more rocky it became, ridges serving to break up any attempt at a charge. The road that had been carved through it narrowed, further complicating a hostile approach.

The castle itself was an enormous thing, looming over and dominating every approach. A massive curtain wall of pale grey stone protected a single enormous tower rising within, fearsome battlements at its top almost resembling a spiky crown. Any siege would be a drawn out, protracted thing, even to his eye, uneducated as to the finer points of medieval war. Steve’s fingers itched for his brush. Perhaps he would have time later.

There was no moat, but the height of the walls and the gates, sheathed in steel, hardly needed the help. The gates were the height of three men, as if made for giants, and they swung inwards ponderously on well oiled hinges as they approached. The passage behind them was long and full of murder holes, and there was a raised portcullis at its end. They emerged into a curved courtyard beyond with a clatter of hooves on stone. The wall of the drum tower was at the far side, and it was quite a large space, looking to do double duty as a training yard. Stables and other buildings sat at its edges, and there was a welcoming party awaiting them, a number of servants arrayed around two older men and a young blond kid.

“Uncle Harbert,” Robert said, outside voice fairly booming, “bread and salt for my guests!”

Harbert looked to be a knight from the sword at his hip, brown of hair and blue of eye, and he looked to share a nose with the Baratheons. He held a bowl of salt, a loaf of bread laying across it, and he offered it to Steve as he dismounted.

Familiar with the routine now, Steve tore off a chunk of bread and dipped it in the salt before swallowing it, before passing the bowl on to Naerys.

Stannis had dismounted as best he could, only for the other old man to descend upon him, almost fussing over him. The man wore a maester’s chain and robes, and Steve thought he saw a brief smile cross the kid’s face at their meeting.

“Uncle, Lord Fell will need some men to take to the town,” Robert was saying to Harbert. “There’s some three hundred freed slaves who need shelter.”

“How did that come about?” Harbert said. His voice was gravelly.

“Pirates fucked around with someone who fucked them right back,” Robert said, looking over to Steve with a smirk. “Ah, uncle, this is Lord America, Steve Rogers. Steve, this is Lord Harbert Estermont, my castellan.”

“Pleasure,” Steve said, offering his hand in the local way.

“You put Barristan down at Harrenhal, didn’t you,” Harbert said, clasping his arm with a hint of recognition in his eye. “Good. Little shit did the same to me when he was a green boy.” Despite the words, there was no heat to them.

Steve’s soldiers chose that moment to arrive, steps echoing through the entryway to the courtyard. Keladry led them around the milling nobles, and they fell into a block with the ease of practice. They were breathing heavily, but Steve was pleased to see that they looked like they could do the run again without too much trouble. Baratheon men-at-arms on the walls and in the courtyard eyed them assessingly, some shaping up to them with the same cocksureness that all young men had.

“Oh, and we’ll need to open the barracks to another hundred, too,” Robert said to his uncle.

“I’ll see it done,” Harbert said, already turning away to approach one of Robert’s party. “Lord Fell…”

“Well, welcome to my home,” Robert said to Steve. “Strongest fortress in the Seven Kingdoms,” he boasted. A blond shadow appeared at his elbow as he spoke, and when he caught a glimpse of the kid from the corner of his eye he startled. “Fuck- I’ve told you to stop doing that Bryn.”

“Sorry my lord,” the boy, Bryn, said. He was tall for his age, almost up to Steve’s chest.

“Nevermind,” Robert said. “Did you get what I asked you for?”

“No, my lord,” Bryn said. He had a quiet voice, and his teeth seemed crowded in his mouth.

“Why not?” Robert asked crossly.

“You told me to ignore you if you asked for wine before lunch,” Bryn said.

Robert seemed pleased and displeased all at once. “Fair,” he said with a grunt. “We should throw our squires at each other at some stage,” he said to Steve. “Bryn is a promising hand with a sword, but he can’t shoot worth a damn.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Steve said. He cast his eye around the courtyard. Keladry was speaking with Harbert, Lord Fell already departing once more with a number of guards and servants laden down with what looked like tents and food, while Corivo was talking with the maester and Naerys discussed something with a head servant. Toby was arguing with a groomsman off by the stables, though no one looked like they were about to get stabbed. So much to do. “Later, though.”

“Aye, later,” Robert said, sobering as he caught Steve’s eye. “We should talk before the feasting starts. Once your man gets the men settled, we’ll meet in the war room. Bring your squire, too.”

Renly ran up to Robert and was swept off his feet to be settled on the big man’s hip. “I’m hungry,” he reported seriously.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Robert said. “Let’s raid the kitchens. They can’t say no to me anymore, I’m the lord of the castle now.”

Robert departed, leaving a whirlwind in his wake, Harbert giving directions to servants as the party of nobles dispersed, some following Robert, others going their own way. Stannis had disappeared into the tower already, and Steve went to oversee Keladry as she saw the men into the barracks, apparently also within the tower. The time would come to talk of war, but first came the details.

X x X

The war room was above the main receiving hall of the tower, called the Round Hall, but below the lord’s quarters and other guest suites. It was on the landward side of the tower, a narrow window that ran the length of the curved wall letting in light through cloudy glass. A large table was in the centre of the room, and on it was a detailed map of the continent, made of vellum and coloured richly with ink, though it had faded some with age.

When Steve entered, guided by a servant, he was not the first to arrive. Robert and Stannis were there, as was Harbert and another knight Steve didn’t recognise, all leaning over the map at one end. Bryn was standing by the window, holding a jug of something. They all looked up as he entered, Keladry and Robin at his back.

“Steve,” Robert said. “No problems?”

“None,” Steve said. “Keladry has it well in hand.”

Robert looked to the disguised woman. “We didn’t get the chance to talk at Harrenhal, but I saw your joust against the Northman,” he said. “Strong lance.”

Keladry inclined her head. She wore trousers and a tunic that happened to show off her strong shoulders, white star stitched on the chest. “Thank you, my lord.”

“This is Ser Gawan Wylde, my master-at-arms,” Robert said. The man wore a gambeson of blue green and gave them a nod, his brown mutton chops certainly a choice. “Gawan, Lord America and his squire Robin, and Ser Keladry.”

“I’m no knight,” Keladry said firmly.

“Truly?” Robert asked. “Well, you’ll be one soon enough,” he said, gesturing at the map.

Robin went over to join Bryn by the wall unprompted, while Steve and Keladry joined the others by the table.

“What’s the situation?” Steve asked, inspecting the map. It was his first time seeing a proper map since his arrival in this land months ago, the closest thing being the outline that Naerys had drawn in the sand back at Sharp Point. He drank it in, committing it to memory, before focusing on the local area.

“The situation,” Robert said, “is that the Tyrells are a bunch of cunts.”

Steve gave him a look, and he coughed, glancing at his squire, before mumbling something that might’ve been a pardon. “They’re the ruling family of the Reach, right?”

“Bunch of stewards, more like,” Harbert said. “But aye.”

“As soon as King Scab named us outlaw, they started mustering,” Robert said. “Now, we beat them to the punch, but I also had to spend a bit of time reminding my lords who they serve.” He set a heavy fist on the table with a thud.

“It was the same in the Vale,” Steve said. “We had to take Gulltown.”

“Stannis said,” Robert acknowledged. “Would’ve liked to be there. Managed the same without having to fight here, but it did take a bit of time, so the roses might’ve caught up more than I would’ve liked.”

“What intelligence do you have?” Steve asked. The map had a number of stone figurines on it, mostly clustered in the Stormlands, but there were more at the side of the map, unplaced.

“The Marcher lords tell me they’ve seen no armies on the march, but who knows when that might change,” Robert said. “I should like to go and shove my boot up their arse before that can happen.”

“Hmm,” Steve said, inspecting the map.

“Boy, a drink,” Robert said to his squire, waving an empty goblet on the table.

Bryn stepped forward with his jug, pouring for his knight master, and then for Stannis too when the kid raised his own cup. “I don’t know how you like this stuff brother,” Robert complained, though he still drank.

“It has flavour, and allows for a clear head,” Stannis said. His crutch was leaning against the table, and he seemed to be forcing himself to stand on his sole leg without doing the same.

Bryn offered the jug to Steve, and he nodded. Robin was quick to retrieve two cups from a small table further down the room, and a drink was poured for him and Keladry. It was lemon water, cool and sour, and he retreated back to his spot by the wall when he was done. Steve spied a tree stitched on his shirt with a shooting star flying over it before he left.

“We don’t know enough about the state of their muster,” Harbert said to Robert. It had the air of a repeated argument. “If we let them extend into our lands, we can smash them here.”

Robert’s lip curled, disdaining the idea. “What do you think?” he asked Steve.

“I think we don’t have enough information,” Steve said. “Not nearly enough.” Maybe he’d been spoiled by 21st century capabilities. “Where is their muster? Are they grouping in their lands, or meeting on the way here? Which route do they plan to take? How are they supplying themselves? Heck, how many men do they have?”

“To start, likely Highgarden,” Robert said, pointing at a fanciful rendition of a castle.

Steve frowned. “All the way over there?”

“The Reachlords are…argumentative,” Stannis said. “The Tyrells hold tight to power in turn.”

“Then they’ll be moving on your lands as one then,” Steve said.

“Likely with a strong van, but aye,” Harbert said.

“They’ll come from the west, right at us,” Robert said. “From the north, via the Kingsroad is a possibility, but I don’t see it. They won’t want to risk a bleeding. Lets them avoid the Kingswood and the Wendwater, too.”

“If they come from the west, their supplies will hold out until they can pillage our lands without need to establish supply lines,” Stannis said. “The cost to do so by land would be prohibitive, even for them.”

“So if we could stall them say, southwest of the Kingswood, we could bog them down,” Steve said. “They can only pillage a land so much.” He didn’t like the idea, but it was a reality of war.

“That means letting them gather their full muster,” Robert said. “Even my arm will grow tired if I have to crush one hundred thousand Reachmen.”

Steve’s brows shot up. “One hundred thousand? How are they going to hope to feed that?”

“The Reach is the breadbasket of Westeros,” Harbert said. “And they have many ships. They’ll manage, if they reach the coast.”

“They won’t send the full measure of their strength,” Stannis said.

Robert was nodding. “Not with the Iron Islands and the Westerlands undeclared. Call it…sixty thousand.”

“How many can you muster?” Steve asked.

“Forty in a good year,” Robert said. “Enough to hit them hard before they can gather their strength,” he added pointedly.

“No easy answer,” Steve said.

“I say it’s plenty easy,” Robert said. “Either we fight in their lands, or we fight in our own. If we fight in theirs, we can fuck them hard enough that the Stormlands can easily weather whatever they throw at us. If we fight in our own, we’ll be bogged down here for the entire war.”

“You want to take your army north to link up with the others,” Steve said, seeing his plan. “After you suppress the Reach.”

“Aye,” Robert said. “The war won’t be won here - it’ll be won when I pulp Aerys’ head like a melon.”

“Or it will be lost when the Reach scatter our overextended army and turn north,” Harbert said. “They could be marching for our border even now.”

“They’re not,” Robert said, certain. He pointed at the west of the Reach on the map. “The lords will be gathering and feasting at Highgarden, and then sweeping east with their muster, picking up more forces on the way. If we strike now, we can shatter those men before they can join the main host.”

“Just in time for the main host to bear down upon us?” Stannis said pointedly.

“In time for us to smash one of its arms,” Robert said. He traced three paths east, two along the rivers of Blueburn and Cockleswhent, and one between them. “They’ll not travel as one, not if they want their supplies to last to the coast, and even when they reach our lands they’ll be forced to range wide to feed themselves and shed men to siege castles they pass.”

“But not so wide that you could hit them one at a time,” Steve said.

“Certainly not with the extra men they gather on their way,” Robert said. “In their lands is where our opportunity lies. The summer knights won’t be expecting it.”

“I hear your foster-brother speaking,” Harbert said.

“What of it?” Robert asked, almost glaring at him.

Harbert sighed. “Your plan has merit,” he admitted, “especially for a young man who has never been to war, but, but,” he stressed when Robert began to grin, “it relies on a shaky foundation. We do not know the state of their muster. We do not know that they will take the routes you suggest-”

“How else are they going to do it?” Robert demanded.

“-and that is before we even meet them in battle, and if you try to claim victory to be a sure thing you’re a fool,” Harbert said, meeting him with a glare of his own.

Wylde and Keladry were politely inspecting the map, pretending not to be involved, while Stannis was watching with the air of a man observing a novelty. Robert ground his teeth, visibly biting back his first response.

“What are the benefits to letting them come to you?” Steve asked, breaking the stare down.

“Reduced risk,” Harbert said immediately. “We can plan for what is, not what might be.”

“More men holding castles will require the Reach to increase the size of their sieges,” Stannis said.

“More men in castles means more mouths to feed,” Robert said. “Winter has worn on our granaries.”

“You did get a partial harvest in,” Stannis said. “Cressen told me,” he said to Robert’s questioning look.

“And we wouldn’t have to cart it with us on the march,” Harbert said. “Use your head, Robert. You know the wise choice.”

“I do,” Robert said, “and it doesn’t see me sitting on my arse and hoping that things go well to the north.” He turned to Steve. “Well?”

“This war is not like the wars I fought,” Steve told him. “Show me a castle and I’ll take it, but not the way you would. I don’t have the education you do.” He looked around at the others. “I’m a soldier, not a general.”

“I know,” Robert said. “I know I owe you for getting Stannis out, but that’s not why you’re here now,” he said, fixing Steve with a stare. “This isn’t about food and fodder and positioning. All that comes later. It’s about whether we hit them first, or if we wait for them to come to us. You’re a fighter. This is a fight. Advise me.”

Put like that, Steve only had to think for a moment. “Initiative is everything. You’ve got it. Use it.”

Robert grinned in answer, a savage, hungry thing. He breathed deeply, broad chest expanding as he seemed to taste the answer. “You’re damned right we will. I want ravens sent to my lords. Harbert, you’ll sit down with Cressen and sort out the numbers to bring to me.”

Harbert grimaced, but nodded. “If we’re doing this, we’ll need to move quickly.”

“We’re no Tyrell c-uh, cads, so no need to gather here,” Robert said. “I’ll ride out the moment we can, and gather the army as we go.”

“I’ll slip into the Reach ahead of you,” Steve said, looking down at the map. “Once word of your coming spreads, they’ll try to concentrate. I’ll pick off groups and ruin supplies as I can.”

“Dangerous,” Wylde remarked, breaking his silence. His brow was creased in a slight frown of concern. “You could easily be caught and squeezed.”

“It’s what I’ve been training my men for,” Steve said.

“I’ve seen the training,” Stannis said. “It is not something I would set our men-at-arms to, but if anyone has a chance, it is Lord America.”

“They won’t know what hit them,” Robert said, unable to shed his grin. “Flowery shits, that’ll teach them to pick a fight with the Stormlands.”

“We can plan for the coming of the main Reach forces when we reach that bridge,” Steve said. He glanced at Robert. “I’m assuming that if they’re already gathered and marching, we’ll pull back and take on a defensive posture.”

“They won’t be,” Robert said. “But aye, we’ll plan for them when we know how they’ll come. Gods, they won’t know what hit them.” He thumped his fist on the table.

Steve didn’t quite share his enthusiasm, but rolling over wasn’t an option when an enemy kingdom threatened to invade your lands. “A hot war, then.”

“Hotter than the Seven Hells,” Robert said. “Jon won’t be happy, but I am.”

“Rhaegar won’t be either,” Steve said, remembering the prince’s communications with the high lords.

“What?” Robert asked, eagerness dropping from his face in an instant.

“He was in contact with the lords before they rode to King’s Landing,” Steve said. “Trying-”

“Stop,” Robert said, raising a hand. “Everyone else, if we don’t share blood, out.”

Wylde and Bryn responded immediately, making for the door, though Keladry and Robin looked to Steve first, and he gave them each a nod. It was silent as they walked out, and the door closed behind them with a thunk.

“What do you know?” Robert asked.

Steve glanced at the other two; Stannis seemed to be hiding confusion behind a blank face, though Harbert was leaning on the table, assessing Steve. “I know that Rhaegar was trying to delay the approach so he could work on his father,” he said. “I know it didn’t work.”

Robert gave a grumbling sigh. “Uncle?”

Harbert glanced at Stannis, though not questioningly. “Given everything…” he said, giving a nod.

“Rhaegar contacted me through one of my bannermen,” Robert said. “Wanted us to hide behind our walls while the Reach besieged us.” The look he wore spoke of his opinion of that clearly.

“He’s still trying to solve this without bloodshed?” Steve asked. “Optimistic of him.” Maybe a little naive too.

“The Prince believes that without pitched battles and the bad blood that comes from them, he can bring his father and the lords to the negotiating table,” Harbert said.

“I think that ship has sailed,” Steve said, glancing at Stannis.

“Aye,” Robert growled, “it has.” He looked down at the map, away from his brother. “If the Scab has touched a hair on Lyanna’s head…”

“Is he working on the Reach too?” Steve asked. “Is that why you argued for defence?” he said to Harbert.

“Says the Reach were commanded to march on us by his father,” Harbert said, “but that he implied to Lord Tyrell that penning us up would be desirable.”

Robert made a sound of disgust.

“That’s asking a lot,” Steve said diplomatically.

“Damned right it is,” Robert said.

“Keeping the might of the Reach occupied here is no small thing,” Harbert said with the air of a man long repeating himself.

Robert waved him off. “They’ll be occupied to be sure,” he said.

“You don’t think Rhaegar was trying to make you more vulnerable to invasion?” Steve asked, brow furrowed.

“If he was, he failed,” Robert said. “But I don’t see it. My man, Connington, is with him. You met him at Harrenhal,” he said as an aside, “and Rhaegar doesn’t get along with his father. Whatever his game is, it’s not that.”

“The game of thrones is a twisted thing,” Harbert said.

“We’ll see if they still want to play after we thrash them,” Robert said. “But Steve - you’ll keep this to yourself,” he said, meeting his gaze.

“I understand,” Steve said. He knew the value of OPSEC.

“Knew you would,” Robert said. “Did we miss anything?

A thought occurred to Steve. “You want to reduce the forces the Tyrells can bring to bear against the Stormlands,” he said. “Could you achieve that through ransom?”

“What, pluck Lord so and so from the field and force him to send his men home?” Robert asked. “Not likely. Not unless they’ve got important family.”

“Aerys invited whom he did for a reason,” Stannis said. “Negotiations would be complicated, especially in war. A besieged castle might exchange a lord for food, but unless you found yourself with Mace Tyrell, the armies are not going far.”

“I imagine you could earn a few coins though, if you want to go to the bother,” Robert said.

Not something likely to win the war on its own then, Steve thought. “Well, I have to pay my men somehow.”

“Harrenhal winnings go quickly on women and song, I imagine,” Robert said, grin returning to his face.

“On leather and steel, more like,” Steve said. “Though those pirate galleys have to be worth something.”

“We’ll have to talk about them tomorrow,” Robert said. “The horses, too. But for now, I’m parched.” He clapped his hands together. “A feast is a fine place to spread the good news, and there’s nothing wrong with getting an early start.”

The war room was left behind, and though there was work yet to be done, it was the work of details, small things that needed to be checked and rechecked before being brought to the lord of the castle for final decisions. In the meantime, the lord had decided it was time to feast, and so it was.

X

The feast was in full swing, and the mood was enthusiastic to say the least. Steve had been sat at the high table, Naerys by his side as Robert toasted him for his deeds to an entire hall full of lords and their retinues.

“To Lord America, the man who spat in King Scab’s eye in his own Keep, and brought my brother home to me! He knocked me on my arse at Harrenhal, and he’ll stand with us as we beard the Reachmen in their own lands!”

The hall itself was well lit by candles and fading afternoon light from high windows, and the Lord Paramount’s boisterous attitude had set the mood. Things had only gotten louder from there, knights and lords full of vim and vigour in the face of the upcoming assault on the Reach. Naerys was deep in conversation with a woman in a green dress, white fawns stitched onto it, while Steve had spoken mostly with Stannis at his side, between him and Robert himself. Keladry had avoided the event, as was her wont, though he could spy Robin at one of the lower tables with some of the knights from the company, crowded in amongst them. The rumble of conversation echoed and bounced off the stone walls of the hall, muffled only by the banners flying along it, symbols of those sworn to the Baratheons and their loyalty in the face of royal displeasure. The scent of roasted meat filled the air, and it had reached a point where even Steve had eaten his fill. Servants were in the process of carrying out kegs, and the feast promised to grow rowdier still.

Steve cast his eye over the hall, holding a smile as he saw Robin losing an arm wrestle against a knight twice his size while some of his fellows cheered him on, as the others got themselves involved in a drinking contest. He shook his head; they should know better by now. He hadn’t told them they had the day off from training, after all.

“Do you plan to join the festivities?” Stannis asked, pushing his plate away.

“Nah,” Steve said. “Nothing like your boss hovering over your shoulder to put a damper on things.”

A certain degree of stiffness eased in the kid, and he nodded. “I had thought to take my leave, but I will stay a while longer.”

The table shuddered as Robert pounded his fist on it, roaring with laughter on Stannis’ other side at something the lord to his left had said.

“Do you know what role you’ll be taking in the war?” Steve asked.

“I do not,” Stannis said, the stiffness returning.

“Well, you’ve been back less than a day,” Steve said. “Probably take time to read you into your duties.”

The muscles in Stannis’ jaw stood out for a moment. “I am under the impression that Uncle Harbert will have command of the garrison in Robert’s absence.”

“Wouldn’t it go to you?” Steve asked. Blood tie seniority was still a foreign language to him.

“I am missing half my leg,” Stannis said. “Men need a commander they believe in.”

Robert’s laughter paused for a moment, though he remained turned away from the conversation, before starting up again.

“Didn’t we have this conversation?” Steve asked.

“Even so,” Stannis said.

Naerys laid her hand on his knee, distracting him for a moment, but she seemed content to leave it at that, continuing her conversation with the lady. “Robin had a thought about that,” he said. “I think he finished the prototype, even.”

“The prototype,” Stannis said questioningly.

“Like a proof that the idea is sound,” Steve said. “He thought of something that might do a better job than a peg leg.”

Stannis’ lip curled with distaste at the mention of a peg leg. “That is kind of him,” he said. “Do you think it has merit?”

“I think it’ll work pretty well,” Steve said. “How have those exercises I gave you been going?”

“Well,” Stannis said. “It has not withered as the maester warned me it might, and it heals well.”

“Good,” Steve said. “We should be able to try out the prosthetic when Robin finishes up with it.”

“I should very much like to see this prototype,” Stannis said, gaze turning to Robin down the hall.

“We’ll drop in on you tomorrow if you like,” Steve said.

“I would,” Stannis said.

“Try to ease up on that resting Baratheon face you’ve got going though, he’s a bit intimidated by you,” Steve said.

“Res- I’m sorry?” Stannis asked.

“You know, that look you’ve got that says you might send someone to clean the stables if they displease you,” Steve said.

Stannis turned his resting Baratheon face on him. “I do not have-”

“Yes you do brother,” Robert said, turning to face them. The clamour of the hall was not enough to block out their conversation. “You use it on me all the time. Yes, just like that.”

“You’ve got it too,” Steve said to Robert.

Robert screwed up his face in consternation. “What? No I don’t.”

“I said resting Baratheon face, not resting Stannis face,” Steve said. “See? Look at yourselves.”

The brothers looked at one another, their brows both creased enough to imply mild displeasure, though Robert had laugh lines that Stannis lacked, even at their young ages. They turned back to Steve.

“The sheer disrespect,” Robert began, though the corners of his mouth threatened to turn upwards.

“What are you going to do, send me to clean the stables?” Steve said.

The brothers glowered at him, and Steve smirked.

Robert opened his mouth to speak, glancing down the hall. “Your squire, he-”

A roar went up in the hall suddenly, a chant growing from many mouths to become one. “Song! Song! Song!” Many were turning to the high table, beating their goblets against their tables.

Steve felt hunted, and he looked to the exits, only for the hand on his knee to tighten. Naerys gave him a beatific smile, mirth in her eyes at his suffering, but he couldn’t bring himself to be mad, not with the way she looked at him in her lavender dress.

Robert gave a low chortle. “A minstrel that was at Harrenhal passed through here the other week,” he said. “Your ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’ was very popular.”

“Song! Song! Song!” went the chant.

There was no denying it, and he raised his hands in defeat, the chant dissolving into cheers.

“What will you sing, Steve?” Naerys asked him. “I’m not sure this crowd would appreciate a love song.”

Something the crowd would appreciate…he thought about the countless songs that he had been introduced to and caught up on over the years, and for a moment he wavered between two of them, before discarding the one about riders and storms. The hall had quieted as he bent to their demands, and now many watched eagerly.

“This is a song from my home,” Steve said, projecting his voice to fill the hall, “and it’s meant to have an instrument with it, but we’ll see if I can do it justice.” A hush followed his words, and he cleared his throat.

“Last night a little dancer came dancin' to my door,

Last night a little angel came chargin’ cross the moor,

She said come on lover, I got a licence for war,

And if it expires, pray help from above, because,

In the midnight hour, she cried more, more, more,

With a rebel yell! she cried war, war, war…”

He began to keep a beat on the table, shaking it with each slap of his hand, tweaking the lyrics as he went.

“Came there did, an act of aggression,

There was an angel stolen from heaven,

Now he’s marching out, out on a tear,

That arrogant king, really poked the bear, yeah,

I walked the world for you, babe…”

The audience ate it up, some rising to their feet as the song captured their spirits and reverberated with the mood of the kingdom. Many roared out the parts of the chorus they had picked up, cries of war, war, war! threatening to raise the roof. When it came to an end, there was an immediate cry for more, though they might have just been repeating the final lyrics.

“And here I thought they wouldn’t like a love song,” Naerys said, Subtly, she indicated to his left. He looked, and saw Robert with his nose buried in a tankard, eyes suspiciously shiny.

“Your turn next, I think,” Steve said, capturing her hand and giving it a kiss.

“Oh no,” Naerys said, “can’t you hear your admirers demanding another?”

“Nope,” Steve lied, draining his goblet, and she laughed.

The crowd could not be denied, and he sang the song again, and then again so that they could learn it properly, the lyrics striking a chord in them, here on the eve of war. Whatever came, they would face it with stout hearts and stiff spines, and he would face it with them.

X x X

The training yard was a scene of pain and suffering the next day, and only partially due to the strenuous exercise and training that Steve, Walt, and Keladry were putting the men through. Quite a few of those with the social standing to secure a seat at the feast the night before were clutching heads and stomachs, doing their best to move as little as possible. They did not have much luck.

“Straighten that back Arnulf,” Steve said. “It’s called a plank, not a bow.”

The unfortunate Arnulf straightened his spine, core trembling as he tried to hold the position. All around the edges of the yard were more unfortunates sharing his pain, planking wherever they had been caught in the middle of their run when Walt whistled. Steve was doing the rounds to check on them, Dodger trotting faithfully at his heel. The ugly dog gave the Arryn man-at-arms a lick on the cheek as they left him behind.

“Stab through the target!” Keladry commanded as she oversaw a group of spearmen at one edge of the yard, victimising straw dummies. They were the ones taking to the skill the slowest, but even they were at the stage where they could handle the average bandit. Now they just had to get them to the point where they could handle the average soldier. “Your mount may give you penetrating power, but on foot you have to work for it!”

They may have taken over the yard for their training, but that was not to say they were the only ones present. Some of Robert’s knights had offered themselves as sparring partners when Walt had asked for volunteers to beat up small groups of the men, and yet more had come purely for the spectacle. Steve leant against the rail of the sparring ring, and nodded in approval as he saw Robin and Osric tag team a young knight to sweep him from his feet with a move Keladry had shown them. Nearby, Henry and another Stormland knight were going at it hammer and tongs, blows ringing around the courtyard and blending into the cacophony of training.

“I’m impressed. Elbert said you plucked half of them out of the fields.”

Steve glanced over at Robert as he approached, clad much like Steve in rough clothes that one could work up a sweat in. “They’ve worked hard.”

Robert joined him by the rail. “Not sure I’d rate them against an equal force of men-at-arms, but they should handle Reach soldiers well enough.”

“Give me another four months and I’ll have them routing knights,” Steve said.

“That’d be something,” Robert said. “Pity we don’t have four months.”

“My kingdom for a moment of time,” Steve said with a wry grin.

Robert gave a laugh, but there was a hollowness to it. “We were lucky,” he said, speaking quietly as they watched two of Steve’s men be pushed back across the ring by a knight. “I don’t know if the old scab thought we’d just roll over for him, but he was slow to call his banners.

“That’s war,” Steve said. “Taking the mistakes your enemy makes and punishing them for it.”

The stormlord rumbled his agreement, and there was silence between them for a moment. “Gossip says you’ve warred before.”

“I have.”

“What is it like?”

“War is hell,” Steve said. “You’ll have heard grand tales, but it’s not like that. It’s just keeping your head down and hoping you’re not killed by something you never see coming.” He gave a mirthless huff. “War is when the young and stupid are tricked into killing each other for the old and bitter.”

“Aerys,” Robert said. He was watching the sparring without seeing, and his hold on the wooden railing tightened. “He’ll pay.”

“Just have to get through the Reach first, right?” Steve said.

Robert barked a laugh. “Aye, just.” There was a great clatter as Hugo picked up his foe and dumped him to the ground, startling the knight with his strength. “Speaking of - my stable master tells me you’ve only forty or so mounts.”

“About thirty for my troops, the rest are mine or my retinue’s,” Steve said.

“I can give you eighty nine horses,” Robert said. “Most are palfreys, though there’s a few destriers in there.”

“That’s generous,” Steve said. “I appreciate that.”

A dismissive wave was his answer. “I’d give five hundred horses for a warrior like you if I had them to spare.”

“I’m sure the Reach will bring more than enough with them,” Steve said. “I’ll have my ward see your stable master about them.”

“That blond tyke?” Robert asked.

“That’s the one,” Steve said.

“Speaking of blond tykes,” Robert said, glancing over his shoulder. His squire Bryn was approaching, struggling under the weight of a large wooden training hammer.

“Oh, there was one other thing,” Steve said, remembering something Naerys had spoken with him about. “The two galleys we captured, what can we do with them?”

“I’ll be honest, I don’t know a damned thing about sailing,” Robert said. “You could leave them at the town, but they’ll be at the mercy of the Redwynes when their fleet arrives, and it will.” He accepted the hammer from his squire with one hand, and the kid blew out a breath of relief. “You could send it away, but you’ve no one to crew it. Aside from the slaves you freed.”

“Away?” Steve asked. “Where?”

“Hells if I know,” Robert said. “Slaver Cities would probably steal them and the crew, I don’t like your chances of getting them past Dragonstone, and Braavos would have you pay to keep them there. What do you think lad?” he asked his squire. “Two galleys and the freed crew on them, go.”

Bryn started at being addressed so suddenly, but frowned in thought. “You could send them to a berth in the Stormlands that wouldn’t draw the Redwynes?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Robert said.

“Telling, ser,” Bryn said, visibly fighting the urge to duck his head.

“That could work,” Steve said. “What berths are nearby?”

Bryn looked to Robert, but only received a raised brow. He swallowed, and spoke. “Griffin’s Roost is closest, but they’re likely to be besieged as well. Estermont could work…but Tarth would be better.”

“And why’s that?” Robert pressed.

“You wouldn’t have to round Cape Wrath, and Lord Tarth wouldn’t demand coin in return,” Bryn said, voice gaining confidence. “Likely he’d only ask for the freedmen to help his smallfolk in the fields.”

“You’re sure about that?” Steve asked.

“Aye ser,” Bryn said. “Lord Tarth is my father.”

“Tarth sounds like the smarter option,” Steve said. “If your father is ok with it, I’d appreciate that.” Leaving the job half done didn’t sit right with him, but he could hardly recruit the freedmen for his company. Maybe some would be interested after they’d had time to recover.

“I can send him a raven,” Bryn said.

“You can do that later,” Robert said. He stepped away from the railing, twirling his wooden training hammer with frankly menacing enthusiasm. He grinned at Steve. “You promised me a rematch at Harrenhal, but I never got a chance to collect. Seems I owe you a beating, Steve.”

Steve shrugged his shoulders out, loosening them. “That’s a shame. Be a long time before you can pay that debt off.”

Robert narrowed his eyes at him, but there was a fierce eagerness in them and his lips were twitching upwards. “Get in the ring, America. Bryn, fetch another hammer.”

The two of them ducked into the ring, and there was a ripple of movement and murmurs as all others saw what was to come. Those sparring stepped aside, and enthusiasm bubbled across the yard. Exercises and training fell by the wayside, and soon there was a crowd pressed tight around the ring. Steve was reminded of his first visit to King’s Landing when he would spar with Barristan.

It did not take long for Bryn to return, struggling with another hammer as he pushed his way through the crowd, and Steve took it with a nod of thanks. He gave it a testing swing; it was almost as heavy as his own hammer.

“Go easy on me now, ok?” Steve said, loud enough for the crowd to hear him. “I haven’t been using a hammer for long, so I’m not very good at it.”

That was apparently too much for Robert to bear, and he rushed forward with a grin and a growl. The fight was on.

X

After, the two men sat on barrels at the edge of the yard, where they could catch their breath and watch the training. The training, and their squires sparring with one another. Well, perhaps that was being charitable.

“Your lad hasn’t picked up a sword before, has he?” Robert asked. He was babying his ribs, the result of Steve picking up a move faster than he had expected.

“You know, I don’t think he has,” Steve said, rubbing at his own ribs, slightly sore from the blow that had taught him the move. “I focused on unarmed self defence, and Keladry on the spear.”

“Pigsticker like he’s got, I’m not surprised,” Robert said, nodding at the glaive Keladry was using to smack around a pair of household knights.

The spar had quickly turned into more of a tutoring session, with Bryn sharing what he had been shown by his own teachers once the older boy’s inexperience became clear. They were working through a simple blocking pattern now, that at least familiar to the bowyer’s son from his time with Keladry.

“There’s something to be said for using a weapon that people aren’t used to dealing with,” Steve said.

“I’ll bet,” Robert said, glancing at him pointedly. “I saw you had your shield fixed.”

“Eh, as much as it could be,” Steve said. “I can’t see how any normal smith could properly repair it, even if they had the metal, but at least this way I’ve got more cover.”

“Rumour says it was made by a Stark,” Robert said. He took a swig from a waterskin.

Steve gave him a side eye. “Where’d you hear that one?”

“Harrenhal,” Robert said. “There’s always gossips listening.”

“It was, but not your Starks,” Steve said, thinking of Howard. His mind’s image of the man overlapped sometimes, the young ambitious man he had known, and the distinguished portraits that had hung in some SHIELD offices. “Robin, watch that stance! You’re not holding a bow!”

Robin just managed to catch Bryn’s next blow, shifting his feet back from where they had tried to slip into the stance he was most used to.

“That’ll ruffle a few feathers,” Robert said.

“Hmm?”

“More Starks out there,” the stormlord said, gesturing vaguely to the west. “Set a few maesters to clucking as they rewrite their books.”

“Pretty sure they’re no relation,” Steve said.

Robert shrugged. “Go back far enough…”

Steve took a sip of his own waterskin, holding his tongue. They watched the kids for a moment, Robin growing more confident with the wooden sword he held, enough for them to leave the pattern behind and start putting the moves to use in a slow spar. Bryn seemed to have some real talent, especially if he kept growing like he was.

“Why do you fight?” Robert asked suddenly. He wore a look of deep thought, even as he watched the spar. “You’ve got no horse in this race. You could’ve swanned off to Essos and made a fortune selling your sword.”

“I don’t like bullies,” Steve said, like it was obvious. And it was.

Robert cracked a smile. “If only everything was so simple.”

“Why not?” Steve asked. “Seeing the right thing isn’t hard. Doing the right thing, that’s where it gets difficult.”

Something about his words seemed to prick at Robert. “Do you think-” he cut himself off. “What do you think you might do, once the war is won?”

"East,” Steve said. “Slavers...well, they're just another kind of bully."

“You’re not scared to pick a fight, are you,” Robert said.

“I’m not the one who picked it,” Steve said. “Either of them.”

Robert snorted a laugh. “Alright then. The slavers have picked a fight with you. How do you hit them back?”

Steve gave the stormlord a look. He had kept his thoughts mostly to himself so far, but he had already shared this much. “I’ve had a few thoughts,” he said, tone warning.

Robert leaned in, eager. “I’ve been up to my eyebrows in coppers and bushels with Harbert and Cressen. Let’s hear it.”

“One option is the Stepstones. Clearing out the pirates and setting up an administration centre there would let you exert control over the region, and control means tariffs,” Steve said. “You could tax every slave that passes through, hitting the slavers in their pockets, or just flat out seize every slaver ship you could and free them. That would very quickly lead to a much hotter response, but it could be done.”

“You might need more than your one hundred for that,” Robert said, brows raised.

“I’d need state support,” Steve said. “Either Westeros, or Braavos. Preferably both, just to avoid being snuffed out. The doing would be easy, but the holding would be hard.”

“It has been done before, I suppose,” Robert said. “‘Course, they did have dragons then. Hell of a deterrent.”

“I’d have to hit the books,” Steve said, nodding. “Easiest way to get in over your head is to repeat the mistakes of the past.”

“Eargh,” Robert said, pulling a face. “The merchants would be happy to see the pirates gone at least, but that’s not really hitting the slaver fucks directly.”

“It isn’t,” Steve acknowledged. “If I wanted to do that, I’d raid a Slaver City directly.”

“Just kick in their gates?” Robert asked, an almost dreamy expression crossing his face.

“Could do,” Steve said. “Or you could do it all quiet-like. From what I’ve heard, Tyrosh and Myr have secrets they guard jealously. Get in, free the slaves who know them, and suddenly their monopoly isn’t so absolute.”

“I can hear their squeals already,” Robert said with a grin, sharklike.

The clamour of the yard continued around them, and Steve saw one of his knights, Yorick, get dumped into the dirt by a tricky legsweep from Robert’s master-at-arms.

“What else?” Robert urged him.

“I’m talking about setting up a personal fief in the Stepstones or raiding a Slaver City and you want more?” Steve asked, brow raised.

“Don’t give me that shit,” Robert said. “Look me in the eye and tell me that’s it.”

“Well,” Steve said. “There’s Lys.”

“Lys,” Robert repeated.

“It’s an island, not a fortress like Tyrosh, more isolated from its mainland holdings than Myr,” Steve said, raising a finger with each point. “I’d have to scout to be sure, but of the three, I’m confident it’s the most vulnerable to a takeover.”

“You’ve got balls, Steve,” Robert said with a shake of his head, though his tone was admiring.

“Take the island, and Myr and Tyrosh will waste time squabbling over their mainland territory, time that could be spent consolidating your hold and building naval defences,” Steve said.

“Even for you, that’s a reach,” Robert said.

Steve shrugged. “You asked for the pie in the sky plan.”

“Pie in the- nevermind,” Robert said. He shook his head again. “You don’t dream small.”

The super soldier was quiet for a moment. “Lys…Lys offends me,” he said, tone quiet.

Robert swallowed at the way the foreigner went still, unable to help it.

“What they do there is evil,” Steve continued. “I won’t let it continue when I have the strength to change it.”

“Bullies,” Robert said, understanding.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Bullies.”

“Well. Once King Scab is dealt with, and my Lyanna is safe with me, maybe we should talk,” Robert said.

“Maybe we should,” Steve said, seeing the offer for what it was. It lifted his spirits somewhat, knowing that lords like Rickard and Robert were inclined to back his efforts. Sometimes all it took was someone taking the first step. Of course, there was still the rebellion to get through first.

“I think my squire has beaten yours up enough,” Robert said, draining the last of his waterskin and getting to his feet.

“Well, he had to get payback for his knight master,” Steve said, joining him.

“Keep talking like that and you’ll earn another beating.”

“What do you mean ‘another’?” Steve asked.

The banter only stopped when they reached their squires, talk turning to advice and improvements. Talk of slaves and slavers was put to the side, but not forgotten.

X

Robin stood straight-backed under Stannis’ gaze, not quite a glare. He and Steve had come to the kid’s rooms after cleaning up from the training yard, and Steve had promptly thrown him to the wolves, nudging him forward after they had been invited in.

“It is not a peg leg,” Stannis said, breaking the silence as he eyed the object that Robin held. He sat at a chair in the antechamber of his quarters. A window allowed afternoon light to enter.

“No, it’s, I don’t know what you’d call it,” Robin said, shifting slightly. “But I wanted to avoid a stiff limb that jarred your st- you leg with every step.”

Stannis gave a hmm, inspecting the prosthetic more closely. “May I?” he asked, holding out a hand.

Robin stepped forward to hand it over, quickly stepping back after, and Stannis turned it over in his hands, examining it from every angle. He might have worn his resting Baratheon face, but he didn’t seem displeased.

It wasn’t just a bow limb with a cup plonked on it. It was much more rounded, curving out to provide the spring and back in for sure footing, and connected to the back of the cup that Stannis’ leg would go in. The spring of the laminated wood would ensure that Stannis wasn’t hauling dead weight along with each step, nor jarring his stump.

“I don’t think it’ll be the right size,” Robin said, not quite tripping over his words. “I’d need to measure, but it should fit well enough to try.”

Stannis was already undoing the knot in his pant leg, pulling it up over his stump. The scarring was still fresh, though scarred it was, the limb having been amputated some two months ago now. It seemed to have healed well enough, and Steve could see that the kid had been diligent in the exercises he had sent him. It was fortunate that the arrow had hit him far enough below the joint to save it.

The stump was quickly hidden by the cup of the prosthetic, though Stannis frowned as he shifted it around, showing its looseness.

“Stuff some fabric in there for now?” Steve suggested.

“Yes,” Stannis said, making to push himself out of the chair, only to pause in frustration. “On by bed, there is an old-”

“I’ve got it,” Steve said. He stepped in and out of Stannis’ room quickly, not looking around, and returned with an old tunic to hand over.

Stannis packed it into the cup, arranging it to suit, and set his stump in it. There were straps of leather to pull tight around it, and he buckled them into place. Cautiously, he stood, and slowly put his weight on it. “It’s light,” he remarked.

Steve was feeling optimistic. “Get used to it, then try taking-”

Wasting no time, Stannis took a step away from his chair, only to almost collapse as the limb didn’t move as he expected. Steve twitched to steady him, but the kid shot him a look that promised far worse than mucking the stables if he did. Steadying himself, Stannis returned his weight to the prosthetic, though he winced.

“It is too loose,” Stannis said. “A better cup, and more secure straps are needed.”

“We can solve that with the right measurements,” Steve said. “Maybe a sleeve to go over your leg too, so it’s not pressing directly on the cup. How does it feel to step in?”

Stannis took a second step, more cautiously this time. Moving slower, the limb didn’t threaten to come loose, and the hint of what might almost be called a smile threatened to cross his face. “It is uneven, and it would be a target in battle.”

“Well, if they cut it off, at least it won’t hurt,” Steve said. Stannis shot a look at him, but he just grinned at him. “Once you get a cup that fits properly, we could think about more limb designs too, with proper measurements. Maybe even one that could be sheathed in metal.”

Stannis stepped determinedly towards the window, and stopped there a moment to rest. It seemed that he couldn't raise his leg overmuch without risking it coming loose, but that would be solved easily enough. He turned back, and slowly made his way towards his chair, growing more certain with each step, though still he was careful. “Longstride.”

Robin had been quiet until then, almost wincing at every comment on the limb. “It’s not much, but-”

“You’ve done me a service,” Stannis said, rolling over him. “You’ll have ten dragons and my thanks for it.”

“But it’s-”

Steve nudged him with his elbow. “Say thanks.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Robin said.

“You are welcome,” Stannis said, already looking back at the limb in consideration. “The maester, or the smith, I wonder.”

“Why not both?” Steve asked. “Come at it both ways.”

“They both have important tasks,” Stannis said reluctantly. “One yes, but both…”

“This isn’t important?” Steve asked.

Stannis nodded slowly. “You are right.” He rose from his chair, glancing over at his crutch before looking away. “I will see them now. I am sure you have much to do.”

“We’ll get out of your way,” Steve said.

He and Robin preceded Stannis out into the hall. The young lord walked carefully, but his confidence grew with each step. It was clear that the prototype had a lot of improvements to be made, and he was restricted to a careful step at a time, but it had promise, and promise was enough to offer hope. Even when the foot of the wooden limb slipped on the stone, forcing him to catch himself on the wall, his determined expression did not fade.

“You’ve got this?” Steve asked.

“I do,” Stannis said, removing his hand from the wall and taking a deliberate step. He began to make his way down the hall, not looking back.

Robin and Steve went in the other direction, bowing to his implicit request, and they were soon out of sight, making for the stairs that led to their own rooms.

Robin let out a breath as soon as he was sure they were out of earshot. “That could have gone worse,” he said.

“You did well,” Steve said. “Nothing to worry about, just like I said.”

“Lord Stannis is ok, for a noble,” Robin admitted.

“Robin, I’m a noble,” Steve said.

Robin snorted.

“Hey now,” Steve said, but he was smiling.

“You know what I mean, ser,” the squire said. “Nothing good comes from dealing with nobles usually.”

“You just got ten gold dragons in your pocket and the thanks of a Baratheon,” Steve said.

“It’s different with you,” Robin said. They made it to the stairs, and started to head down, Robin leading the way.

“You’ve been dealing with nobles for a while now though,” Steve said. “What made you nervous this time?”

“I’ve been dealing with the people working for nobles, for you,” Robin corrected him. “They’re not dealing with a bowyer’s third son, they’re dealing with someone working for Lord America.”

Steve was frowning now. “Has someone given you trouble?”

Robin held his tongue, waiting until they reached the next floor and left the curving stairs. “Not me,” he said. He swallowed, looking down the hall, but they were alone. “Ma worked for a noble for a while. It’s how she knows her numbers and letters, but…for a while, we didn’t know if my little brother was Da’s or not. Ma doesn’t work for the noble no more.”

Steve’s frown deepened.

“Da went to the Septon, but he just said they should be happy for the blessing,” Robin said, anger and disgust in his voice.

A conversation many months ago at Harrenhal flitted across Steve’s mind. “You said your family doesn’t have much time for Septs and Septons.”

“Yeah,” Robin said, mouth a thin line. “There are nobles, and there are nobles. I’ll be happy to see they’re like you, but I’ll expect them to be like him.”

“What was this noble’s name?” Steve asked, voice mild.

Robin stilled for a moment, and then an evil little smile darted across his face. “Peake,” he said. “His name is Peake. He’s a lord in the Reach.”

“You’ll have to tell me what his banner looks like,” Steve said. He clapped Robin on the shoulder. “But today, you’ve done good. Well done, Robin.”

“Thanks,” he said, ducking his head.

“You’ll have to buy Lyanna something nice,” Steve said.

“I could,” Robin said, brightening as darker topics were left behind. “I could- what could I get her?”

“Well, what does she like? If I was getting a gift for Naerys, I’d head straight for the bookstore, but…”

Their conversation faded from the halls as they returned to their rooms, a knight giving advice to his squire on a most important topic.

X x X

Storm’s End became a hive of activity as the days passed. Ravens flew hither and yon, knights came and went, and word was carried to Robert’s trusted vassals of his audacious plan. All across the Stormlands men continued to gather, readying themselves to hold against the coming storm. War was the second oldest profession in the world, and it was one the men of these lands were well versed in.

Baratheon forces were not the only ones undertaking their final preparations. Toby had taken to living in the stables, spending as much time with the new horses as he could when they weren’t being ridden by the troops as they practised riding in formation and fighting from horseback. Walt and Keladry found new reserves of energy as they pushed the men as hard as they safely could, while Naerys and Lyanna ensured that the company would have the ability to carry the ideal amount of supplies in their ranging. Everyone contributed, and not a one complained, not now on the eve of the war in truth.

Steve found himself sitting in on strategy meetings with Robert and his advisors, making and refining plans for their attack. Even if the muster of the Reach was even more sluggish than they had expected, there would still be foes waiting for them when they crossed the border. Just as there were three paths for the enemy to take to the Stormlands, so too were there three points to spoil a prong of their advance.

In the end, it was decided that Lord America would take his force along the Blueburn, causing havoc as he could. There were more strongholds in the region, but as a result fewer men needed to hold it, and that suited his purposes just fine. It would take more than the average castle to keep him out, anyway.

The galleys were sent off to Tarth to wait out the war, the freedmen on them grateful for the chance, and Steve could feel the time to leave drawing nearer. He missed the ease of a dedicated support staff with access to global supply lines and he would give a kingdom for a Quinjet, but he would adapt. He was good at it.

When the day to leave came, the two Baratheons made a point of seeing him off in the early morning light. They stood at the main gates of the fortress, inside the yard, overseeing the departure of Steve and his men on their dangerous task. Men-at-arms watched solemnly as they went, flags flapping in the wind. Keladry led the column, and Ren was at her side, white star banner held aloft. The men were passing by them and through the gates two at a time, armed and armoured, speartips shining and helms almost gleaming. Steve gave a wink to Naerys as she passed, Lyanna at her side. The girl was busy eyeing Robin at Steve’s, but she could be forgiven. Naerys had told him that they looked very sharp in their armour as they readied themselves earlier.

“I’m still not sure I like it,” Robert said, to Steve’s right. “Taking women to war.”

“I’ve been training Naerys almost since I arrived here,” Steve said. “She can defend herself.”

“What about the servant women?” Robert asked as Betty and her girls passed by. He had the sound of a man looking for an answer, rather than being against it.

“They’re safer with us than the women in villages in the path of the armies are,” Steve said, setting his jaw. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but he already knew he was going to have to set some examples in the weeks to come. “It’s dangerous, I know, but all war is,” he said, “and if they want to serve, they deserve the right.”

“Lyanna unhorsed me, you know,” Robert admitted, “at Riverrun.” To his right, Stannis cut off something that could be a laugh.

“I had a feeling,” Steve said.

“I still wouldn’t want her going to war,” Robert said.

“Think of it this way,” Steve said. “I wouldn’t put Naerys in a shieldwall to take a cavalry charge, but I need someone to manage my logistics when I can’t spare the time, she’s the best I have for it. If you had the choice, would you want Lyanna leading the cavalry on your wing, or a man who can’t get his horse to charge without whipping it?”

Robert grumbled. “You know that’s not why. What if-”

“You think women are the only ones at risk of that?” Steve asked. “All you can do is give them the training and tools they need to kill anyone who tries.”

Robert choked at his words, though he got himself under control after a moment. “You don’t think it’s unlordly then? To take them to war?”

“I think it’s unlordly to take anyone’s choice from them,” Steve said. “But it isn’t right to do so irresponsibly either.”

“So the training,” Robert said.

“The training,” Steve agreed. “Six months ago, Robin was a bowyer’s assistant. Now look at him.”

Robin shuffled awkwardly behind him, and Robert turned an amused eye on him for a moment.

“I take your meaning,” he said, before sighing. “Heavy words for a farewell.”

“It’s a heavy occasion,” Steve said. “We’re going out to kill people in their own lands, because otherwise they’ll be told to kill your people in theirs.”

“The sooner I get my hands on Aerys the better,” Robert said.

“You’re set on it then? Turning north after you smash one arm of the invading force?”

“Aye. I’ll not sit and wait for someone else to rescue my betrothed,” he said, fairly growling. “Stannis will hold the castle in my absence.”

“What?” Stannis said, startled.

“You heard me.”

Steve glanced over at Stannis, taking enjoyment in the look on his face, a mix of pleased and affronted.

“What of Uncle Harbert?”

“I already told him,” Robert said. “You’ve got your leg back, and it’s not like I’m sending you out on a march.”

The second iteration of the prosthetic had come together quickly under the eyes of Maester Cressen and the castle smith, a man named Donal Noye. The young lord now walked the castle without the aid of his crutch, the limb made by Robin incorporated into a new cup with greater support, though there were still improvements to be made.

“Thank you, brother,” Stannis said. He almost sounded touched.

“Just don’t lose it when that fucking Tyrell arrives,” Robert said.

“Of course,” he said, sounding considerably less touched.

The progression began to end, the few riderless horses they had now passing by in pairs, Walt and Toby bringing up the rear, already arguing. Brooklyn was at the kid’s side, and she broke off towards him without direction as they neared. Robin’s horse, Scruffy, followed close behind.

They mounted up, and Steve looked down at the two brothers. “Good luck to you both,” he said.

“You too, America.”

“And you.”

“I’ll see you on the other side,” Steve said, and with that, he wheeled his mount around and trotted out the gates, Robin at his shoulder. They cantered down the line until they reached the head of the column, taking over the lead from Keladry. A weight settled over his shoulders, the responsibility he had to all those following seeming to slow him. He knew he couldn’t bring them all back home alive, but it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.

X

Their journey through the Stormlands was marked by a strange mood for those that wore the red, white, and blue. They went to war, but their captain hardly seemed to change, beyond discovering a hitherto unknown sense of mercy as he set them to training, almost going easy on them. They would exercise their bodies in the morning before they set out, discuss the tactics expected of them over lunch, and practise their weapon drills of an evening before dinner. They gathered what they could from the land to stretch their supplies, fishing from streams and hunting in the Kingswood as they skirted it. When someone asked hesitantly about poaching, the slowly raised eyebrow they received from Lord America made them feel such a fool that they cursed themselves for ever asking.

There was a moment of excitement when a pair of enormous boars surprised the column on the march, the ornery beasts picking a fight with the group that had dared to enter their territory, only to be brought down by the redheaded slinger, Willem, and a knight, Yorick. The pair, smallfolk and noble, were acclaimed as one and Steve smiled to see the camaraderie that he had fostered in his company. The boars were gifted to a village they passed in exchange for more portable supplies, and Steve spoke with a pair of solemn village elders, warning them of the battles to come.

Walt and Corivo turned the air blue as they tore strips off one brainless unfortunate caught pissing upstream from the camp one evening, and when the captain got involved it turned into a lecture on contamination that only the Myrman could follow easily. A cold wind swept the fields that night, but they were warm in their tents and bedrolls. Even the unthinking man on sentry duty was warm in his boots, and all were thankful to their captain for it.

The closer they grew to the Reach, the more the training eased, yet still the captain remained the same, growing not worried or concerned. Smallfolk were warned as they passed them, and paid for the supplies they parted with. War loomed, yet the captain remained the same. It was only as they approached the border that they began to realise. Lord America had been ready for war before they were ever recruited. Here was no commander given authority by birth, here was a man who knew his trade and did it well. Their confidence grew, and the final touches of Lord America’s company came together. They were ready.

Two weeks after leaving Storm’s End, they crossed into the Reach.