A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

It was overly generous to call it a road, but it led to the small village that was their goal. Mud slowed their wagon, clinging to its wheels, but the mules pulled stubbornly onwards. They arrived in the nameless village in the early afternoon, watched warily by the smallfolk who worked the fields outside, and the old men and women who sat at tasks within the village. Toby led the way, staring about every which way as he took in the sight of the place that his mother had been born in and stolen from. A grandmother pushed a toddler behind her dress as they passed, looking at their fine clothes and finer horses. They might only be wearing their travel gear, but compared to the ragged clothes the smallfolk wore, they might as well be wearing silk.

A pair of thin goats stared at them as they neared the muddy patch of open ground that passed for a town square. Distrustful eyes peered at them through dark doors.

“There’s more people here than I would have thought,” Steve said, looking over the dwellings. They weren’t quite ramshackle, and were constructed with a certain amount of pride, but they would certainly be looked down on by any city dweller. He judged there to be enough to house perhaps five hundred people.

“It’s in better condition than many villages I’ve seen in my travels,” Keladry said. Since leaving Riverrun, she had opened up again, free from the thought that she or her name might be recognised. “Perhaps the tax farmers are less rapacious here.”

“We’re looking at rain, perhaps,” Naerys said as she rode up on Swiftstride, peering up at the grey sky.

Robin and Lyanna sat in the wagon, looking about. Lyanna had a disquieted look on her face as she took in the conditions of the village. Dodger sat atop the wagon, ears pricked up.

“This is your show Toby,” Steve said. “Whatever you want to get done here.”

“I dunno,” Toby muttered. He still looked about, as if searching for something. Whatever it was, he didn’t seem to find it, and Khal, his black stallion, took him down a village lane without prodding.

In the distance, Steve could hear repeated shouts. There was nothing alarmed about it, but it had the sound of command to it. In the village ‘square’, one of the houses caught his eye, in better condition than any others. There was also the start of a gathering crowd, a few villagers starting to gather down the side streets and behind houses.

He dismounted, stroking Fury’s neck. The white horse nosed his pocket, demanding the apple he had hidden there, and he fed it to him, the horse careful to avoid his fingers with his teeth.

“Hello the village,” Steve called, raising an arm to their silent audience. “I am Steve Rogers. I mean you no harm.”

The villagers seemed to rustle at his words, several murmuring amongst themselves, but there was no reply.

Steve exchanged a glance with Naerys, and she shrugged.

“Is there someone you trust to talk for you?” he spoke again.

Some of those closer glanced towards the nicer house, but others seemed to glance away, out of the village, in the direction of the commands. Commands which seemed to have stopped.

Some unseen signal seemed to pass around the slowly growing crowd of observers, and their uneasiness began to lessen. He heard numerous footsteps squelching through mud one lane over, but there was also activity within the house that likely belonged to the village headsman. As its front door creaked open, a dozen armed villagers made their entrance onto the square in a half decent marching column, a grizzled old man at their head. From the house also emerged a less grizzled old man who looked like he had probably bathed in the last couple of days.

Both the old men caught sight of each other at the same time, and visibly decided not to get into things in light of the strangers in their village. They stared Steve down, but said nothing, waiting.

“I am Ser Rogers, Lord America,” Steve said, projecting for the crowd. “Who speaks for you?”

“Name’s Walt,” the fighter of the two leaders said. He looked like he wanted to spit, but settled for eyeing Steve like he might bite someone. His hair was almost entirely salt, with only a few small streaks of pepper left, and starting to retreat back from his forehead, but his beard was tidy, and cropped short. His face was lined with the records of a hard lived life.

“I’m Kincaid, milord,” the headsman said. He had a similar look to Walt, but he looked younger, less worn. His hair had more colour in it, and he had fewer frown lines. He even wore clothes that were comparable to Steve’s travel gear.

“Is there a reason you greet strangers with spears?” Steve asked, gesturing to the dozen villagers behind Walt. They had no armour to speak of, but their spears looked to be in good condition, if old.

Both men made to speak at once, speaking over one another, and they exchanged glares.

“You’re not our lord,” Walt said. “We don’t owe you any explanation.” There was a round scar on his left cheek, like an arrow had been shot through it. The old but well-maintained mail and gambeson he wore only added to his appearance as a fighter.

A vein on Kincaid’s temple twitched. “We’re armed because we need to be, milord. There’s mountain clansmen about.” He looked towards the mountains to the north. They were probably only a day’s ride away, and they seemed to loom over the village, even in the distance.

“Have you been raided?” Steve asked. He remembered what Keladry had said about the habits of the mountain clansmen.

“Not yet,” Walt said. “But they’re a-comin’.”

“And so are Lord Tillet’s men,” Kincaid said. “And when they see we’re under arms, our obligations will increase. It’s already going to be bad enough with all the newcomers.”

“Tillet didn’t defend the villages the newcomers fled, and he won’t defend us,” Walt said, and it had the sound of a long worn thin argument. “We can wait for spears that aren’t comin’ and watch as our womenfolk are dragged away, or we can take up our own and gut the fuckers who try it.”

“Lord Tillet didn’t get warning that the other villages were threatened,” Kincaid said. “It were your scouting that gave us that warning in the first place. Can’t you be ha-” he cut himself off, regret on his face.

“I’ll be happy when the whoresons are in the ground,” Walt said, face like stone. He turned back to Steve. “That enough of a reason for you, lord?”

“How many villages have been attacked?” Steve asked.

“Four in the last half year,” Walt said.

“Their survivors all ended with us,” Kincaid added.

Steve frowned. “And the lord here hasn’t done anything?”

“Helped them resettle, patrolled the coastal lands, aye, but chase the raiders up into their mountains?” Kincaid asked, shaking his head. “It’s a fool’s errand.”

“Any force worth their steel could pursue those goat fuckers into ‘their’ mountains,” Walt growled back. “This new Lord Tillet would have left his bowels on the first beach in the Stepstones and his entrails on the second.”

“You expect an attack soon then,” Steve said, looking over the dozen spearmen. They held their weapons competently enough, but Steve could see that they were new to them.

“Aye,” Walt said. He gave a whistle, and eight more armed villagers emerged from another side street, to the side and behind Steve and his companions.

“Stranger take you Walt,” Kincaid groaned.

Walt looked unapologetic. “Can’t trust strangers.”

Toby came trotting back, eyeing the gathering. “Who’re these old farts?” he asked.

“Mouthy little shit, aren’t you?” Walt said.

“Tobias,” Keladry said.

Toby ignored her, sticking out his tongue at Walt. Walt spat at the feet of his horse in response.

“Every now and then, I go and check the spots nearby that a raiding party might camp at if they wanted to hit the village,” Walt said, ignoring the glob of spit Toby sent back at him. “I saw a group of thirty approaching one of them two days ago.”

“When do you think they’ll attack?” Steve asked.

“Tonight.”

“Alright,” Steve said. “This is what we’re going to do.”

Steve was a strange lord, newly arrived in the village and without any great entourage. He displayed no true finery, and his clothes were travel stained, but even so, he possessed an undeniable strength of presence. When he spoke, people listened, and the crowd leaned in to hear his words.

“Walt, you and your men will defend the village as you planned,” he said. “Keladry and I will lay in wait outside the village and hit them from behind when they attack.”

“You’ll be becalmed before a pirate if they catch you out there,” Walt said.

“It would be simpler if they did,” Steve said. He considered the feasibility of playing bait, but dismissed it as unreliable. “Robin, I want you to pick a roof and get yourself up there. Make sure you’ve got a clear escape path. When the attack comes, your job is to send up a fire arrow in the direction it’s coming from.”

Robin nodded, face serious. This would be his first time knowingly going into a fight, but he looked ready.

“Toby, you’ve got the horses,” Steve continued. “You’ll stay on the move, and pass any messages. Let the horses do what they do best.” He’d normally forbid the kid from going near the fight, but he knew better than to give an order he knew wouldn’t be obeyed.

The horses stamped their feet, as if sensing their master’s eagerness.

“Do you have a plan for your non-combatants?” Steve asked the two village leaders.

Kincaid answered, Walt looking to him. “We mean to shelter in the festival hall. It’ll be tight with all our new neighbours, but it has a cellar.”

“Naerys, Lyanna, you’ll join them,” Steve said. Naerys looked conflicted, a hint of disappointment in her eyes, but she nodded. “Naerys, you’re the last line of defence in case anyone gets past us.”

There was some stirring in the crowd at that, and some who looked to have something to say about a woman bearing arms in defence of them, but Steve pinned them with a stare and they stayed quiet.

“I’ll have my boys set up barricades around the hall, block the streets,” Walt said.

“Good thinking,” Steve said. “Is there anything else I need to know?” There was some murmured discussion, but nothing was forthcoming. “Alright then. Let’s get to work.”

X

Night fell, and with it a sense of anxious anticipation upon the village. The last rays of the sun were disappearing over the horizon, and their preparations were near complete. Livestock had been locked away safely, streets barricaded with rough cut wood that had been intended for housing, and the villagers, those that weren’t fighting, huddled in the festival hall. Robin stood watch atop a tall house, the clear skies and bright moon giving him a clear view of most approaches.

In Kincaid’s home, lit by candles, Steve and Keladry made their final preparations. They checked each other’s arming doublets and quilted breeches. Keladry insisted on armouring Steve first, and so he stood in the small home of the village leader as he donned his new armour for only the second time, and the first for battle. From the feet up, the thick plate was secured to him, each strap and buckle shaken and checked. It wasn’t something he couldn’t manage himself, but there was a solemnity to the process that he could appreciate. The cuirass settled onto his shoulders, star front and centre, protecting him from near anything any bandit could bring to bear. The suit Tony had made for him probably protected him better, but there was something about sixty pounds of steel plate that made a man feel invincible.

Keladry moved on to his arms, gauntlet, vambrace, and pauldron strapped and fixed in place on each side. He curled his arms and twisted in place, crouching and rising. His movement was smooth and almost unhindered, although he didn’t think he’d be able to bring his foot over his head as he normally could. Finally, he was handed his helm. He looked at its face for a long moment, before placing it on his head.

“How do I look?” Steve asked.

“Like you could take on the Kingdoms alone,” Keladry answered.

“Well, maybe one of them,” Steve said. “Your turn.”

The process was unfamiliar, but Steve was a quick learner, and Keladry was soon clad in her own plate armour, checking her balance and mobility. If Steve was a tank, she was a drone, little consideration for anything but lethality. The armet helm she donned only completed the picture, visor snapping into place, two narrow slits staring out at the world.

Clad in armour, she stood taller, every inch speaking of quiet confidence, like this was her natural state. Still, her helm tilted towards Steve, silently questioning.

“You look strong,” Steve said. “Did you fight much, the year you and Toby were alone?”

Keladry flipped her visor up, revealing hazel eyes. “Bandits, here and there. Once a group of men at arms that had been sent to harass another lord’s village. Not mountain clansmen though, not since the ambush.”

“They won’t know what hit them,” Steve said. “You ready?”

She strode over to the wall, against which her glaive leaned. Two metres of wood, and another half metre of blade, ensured that she would outreach near anyone on the battlefield. “I’m ready.”

Steve took up his shield, strapping it to his arm, and set his hammer into the harness on his back, the head down at his waist. He felt a stirring within him, a nostalgia that harkened back to the early days with the Avengers, almost as if he could look over his shoulder and see Tony and Clint arguing about arrows, or Thor idly swinging his hammer. It passed, and he clapped Keladry on the shoulder. “Let’s go be heroes.”

X x X

In the lee of a small hillock, Steve and Keladry waited. To the south, across several fallow fields, they could see the village, torches lit throughout in an attempt to make it seem like they were unaware of the coming raid. Steve waited with inhuman patience gained over many long watches and stakeouts, and Keladry took her cues from him as they kept their vigil. It had been some few hours already, and they did not know how many more were to come.

Then, a flaming arrow rose from the village. It shot to their left, briefly illuminating a number of figures creeping through the fields to the east. There was a scream of pain as one of them was hit in the side.

“Charge, quietly,” Steve ordered. He broke into a jog, and Keladry followed.

The raiders were perhaps one hundred metres away, but the two warriors ate up the distance, their breathing steady. Perhaps some knights would think it inadvisable, but Steve could run for days, and Keladry had long since been introduced to the joys of the suicide run after watching his exercises. Metal clanked and rattled, but the raiders were too distracted to see them coming, trying as they were to avoid the arrows speeding out of the darkness towards them as they ducked low and charged the village. Already two more had shafts sticking from them, and as the warriors neared, one of them keeled over, dead.

They hit them side on, the raiders blind to the presence until it was too late, so focused were they on closing with the village. The field was watered with blood as Steve and Keladry crashed through the dozen or so men. Steve knocked two clean off their feet with a single sweep of his hammer, leaving them wheezing, while Keladry decapitated one and drove the iron shod base into the temple of another. They careened through to the other side, leaving their foes in disarray behind them.

Some turned, others tried to keep charging, but their momentum had been lost. Clad in furs and mismatched armour, many of them wore old burn marks proudly, and they snarled as they saw the two armoured warriors before them. They cursed them in a language that Steve didn’t recognise, but Keladry cursed them right back, and they reared back in shock and offence. Whatever she had said, it was enough to turn them from the village, and they charged, howling.

Seven charged two, but it was not nearly enough. Axes and swords crashed against plate and were ignored as skulls were cracked and limbs carved from bodies. Keladry disembowelled the final two with a single sweep of her glaive, leaving them screaming in the dirt. She put them out of their misery with precise cuts to their throats, and then saw to the others that Steve had left wounded and broken.

“Don’t see much use for prisoners?” Steve asked.

“Not of mountain clansmen,” Keladry answered. She cleaned her blade on the fur of one of the fallen.

The sound of combat reached them, coming from the village. The fight was not yet done.

“Kel, head to the hall, make sure it’s still safe,” Steve said. “If you don’t join me at the fight afterwards, I’ll assume there was trouble and come to you.”

“Aye,” Keladry said.

They split, running for the village and their goals. Steve could still hear the occasional buzz of an arrow fired, and the pained shouts of wounded men. He followed it to the village square, and there he found a scrum of men, fighting and dying. Side on to them he was, and he could see the villagers valiantly warding off the clansmen who were laughing and roaring, drunk off bloodlust. The clansmen were outnumbered, only ten of them, but it was clear which of the groups were the better fighters, some spearmen crawling away from the fight, others still and bloody on the ground. The only thing keeping them from being overwhelmed was Walt, standing in the centre of the wavering line. He wore an old maille hauberk and a skullcap, and his bared teeth were outlined with blood, as if he had torn out a man’s throat with them. The clansmen near him were wary, but they would not be deterred forever.

Steve made his entrance without ceremony, charging into the pack at a sprint. He did not bother with shield nor hammer, simply bulling his way through the enemy, and they were left scattered in his wake. Limbs cracked and bones were crushed as Captain America decided that he had a pressing need to be on the other side of them.

Walt was the first to take advantage, driving his spear into the gut of the leader and tearing it out, leaving the man shrieking with pain. The scent of blood and shit was heavy in the air, and the old soldier added to it as he gave another clansman a wound to match. The other spearmen soon followed his lead, and the raiders had no chance to recover from Steve’s entrance before generational fury was vented upon them, each raider speared half a dozen times. Soon the only sound was the panting of the survivors as they regained their breath, and a brief, wet choking as one of the clansmen tried to breathe with a torn out throat.

“There’s a dozen or so dead in the eastern field,” Steve said to Walt. He quickly counted the bodies in the dirt again. “You said you saw about thirty?”

“At least,” Walt said, leaning on his spear. He spat, trying to clear the blood from his mouth, and wiped his face with the back of his hand, but it only served to smear the blood further.

Keladry had yet to join them, but there was no sign of Toby either, and he misliked it.

“Toby went west with the horses, but he hasn’t come back yet,” Robin said. The boy was crouched on a nearby roof, and he seemed to have been hopping from house to house.

Steve hesitated, but only for a moment. He might have told Keladry he would join her if she did not come to the fight, but he knew her well enough to know she’d want him to see to Toby. “Robin, head to the hall and make sure all is well. Take some of the spearmen with you. Walt, you’ll see to your wounded?” He received a nod from him, and the villagers in the best shape headed over to Robin as he slipped down from the rooftop. While at another time some might argue at being told to follow a teenager, after Steve’s entrance to the fight, none would gainsay his orders. “I’m going to find Toby. Watch each other’s backs; we’re almost through this.”

No time was wasted, the feeling of time slipping away while a companion might be in danger nagging at them. As Steve loped through the village, armour clattering as he went, he passed two more corpses with arrows in their necks. He soon left the settlement behind, and he slowed as he beheld the sight before him.

The good news was that Toby was fine. He was fine because the raiders who had attempted to attack from this direction had been reduced to a bloody, mangled mass in the dirt. Even as he watched, Toby led another pass as he sat atop Redbloom, the other horses following behind. Even one of the mules, Bill, the one that so often butted heads with Keladry’s warhorse, had joined in the carnage, doing his best to keep up at the rear of the herd. A raiding party might be a threat to a peaceful village and the untrained smallfolk who lived within, but they had clearly come off second best in this encounter.

Toby saw Steve and trotted over to him, the other horses following. Blood and gore dripped form their hooves. “What’d you come ‘ere for? I got it handled.”

“Pass messages, I said,” Steve said, voice dry.

“I sent a message,” Toby said, shrugging. “‘Ow’d the rest go?”

“Fine so far,” Steve said, “but some might have slipped through to the hall; I sent Keladry to check and Robin to support her with some spearmen.”

“Kel’s fine,” Toby said, sure of her skill. “But Steve, these’re Burned Men.”

“Burned Men?” Steve asked.

Toby spat to the side. “Bastards they are. No clan wants to fuck with them.”

“You can tell me about them once we’re sure they’ve been dealt with,” Steve said, “and after Keladry hears about your language.”

Toby gave him a betrayed look. Steve was unimpressed.

“Come on,” Steve said. “I can’t hear any fighting, but let’s make sure everyone is ok.”

X

The festival hall was only two lanes away from the square, but from the bodies that lay before it, it seemed that several raiders had managed to sneak past and try their luck at those protected within it, not that it seemed to have done them much good. Two bodies lay by the main door, throats cut messily, and Naerys sat near them, bloody short sword over her lap and Dodger beside her, jaw flecked with blood. She was pale but unharmed, and was talking quietly with Keladry. There were two more bodies further away, one missing its head, a move Keladry seemed fond of, but the other had been cut clean in two at the waist, entrails spilling out from the torso in a macabre display. There was one last clansman, but this one still lived, kneeling in the dirt as Walt stood behind him, spear pressed into his back. Some of the other spearmen were gathered, but most were still seeing to the rest of the village.

“All well?” Steve called as he neared.

“Aye,” Keladry answered. “If there are any clansmen left, they’ve long fled.”

“Just this last bit of mountain scum left,” Walt said, jabbing the captive with his spear, “and we’ll fix that soon enough.”

“The sentence for banditry is hanging, right?” Steve asked. Walt clearly had a grievance with the mountain clans, but even so, he wouldn’t sit by and watch a prisoner be abused, no matter their crimes.

“He’ll hang, don’t worry,” Walt said, although he did ease off with his spear.

The captive had been grimly quiet, but he looked up as seven horses joined them. Recognition lit in his eyes, and a horrible grin spread across his face, revealing crooked and missing teeth. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you alive again boy,” he said, looking at Toby. His accent was harsh, but he spoke Westerosi easily enough.

“Chet,” Toby said, voice flat. There was a coldness in his eyes.

“What’d you do, run off after the raid that killed your Da?” Chet said. “Pretend you’re not some clan’s get and lie your way into being a bed servant for some Andal?”

“Still talking through your arse then,” Toby said, sneering. “See nothin’s changed. Piss in anyone’s porridge lately?”

Chet snarled at Toby, but kept his calm. “You know what has changed though boy? Now I get to fuck your Ma whenever I want, instead of just when I catch her out alone.”

Toby’s face went still.

“Toby,” Keladry said, voice warning, but Toby ignored her, not looking away from the captive.

“I ever tell you that I might be your daddy?” Chet said. “You were born not long after the first time I had your Ma, but it wasn’t the last.”

Walt struck him in the back of the head with the butt of his spear, but the raider winced and ignored him.

“Yeah, you and that streak of piss you called Da not coming back from that raid was real good for me and the lads,” Chet said. “Your Ma’s cunt has been doing the work of ten-”

Redbloom whirled and kicked Chet in the head, caving it in with a sick crunch. The force of the blow pushed him back onto Walt’s spear, and it pierced clean through his chest. Redbloom galloped away into the darkness, and Keladry jumped onto Malorie without pause, chasing after him.

“Guess he won’t be hanged after all,” Walt said, pulling his spear free with a squelch.

Steve looked down the lane his friends had disappeared down. It was easy sometimes, to forget that Toby was hardly ten. Come the morning, he would speak with them, and they would plan their next steps. For now though, they would need their space.

“See to the corpses,” he commanded. “Any wounded, take them to the village healer, and I’ll help aid them.”

The raid had been repulsed, the battle won, but the execution of the last raider had left a sour taste in his mouth, and not because of its manner.

X

The morning came, and with it questions. Keladry and Toby had returned an hour after they had disappeared the previous night, both on Redbloom. Despite the hardness of her plate armour, the boy had been sleeping as he leant back into her. Kel had brooked no questions, carrying Toby into their tent and laying him down on his bedroll. As the sun rose, they all gathered in the main section, some more well rested than others. There was an air of expectation, and all were watching Steve as he stood at one end of the ‘room’, arms crossed.

“I don’t think that there’s any question of what we’re going to do next,” Steve said, watching Toby as he spoke. Gone was the chaotic but eager child who was happy so long as he was around horses, replaced by a kid with a helpless anger, mind bent on only one thing. “What we need to decide on is the how. Toby, these Burned Men, they’re the clan you walked away from?”

“My clan weren’t no Burned Men,” Toby said. “They were Mountain Runners, but they must’ve been folded into the Burned.”

“Burned Men are one of the larger clans,” Keladry explained. “Like the others, they’ve plagued the Vale for centuries, constantly raiding and stealing women.”

“Why are they called the Burned Men?” Lyanna asked. She sat on the floor, holding Dodger to herself as she scratched him behind the ears.

“Because when they come of age, they burn a part of their body off,” Keladry said.

“No one wants to fuck with a clan full of people like that,” Toby said.

“Do you know where this clan lives?” Steve asked.

Toby shook his head. “They move, so the knights don’t come in and wipe ‘em out,” he said. “And my clan moved more than most, ‘s why we were called the Mountain Runners. I dunno where they’d be now, being taken in by the Burned.”

“How deep into the mountains are they?” Steve asked.

“Deep,” Keladry said. “They’ve been there for thousands of years, and they know their lands well.”

“Their numbers?”

“No one knows.”

Steve frowned, considering. They didn’t need to conquer the mountains, a good thing since the might of the Vale had apparently failed at that for the last few thousand years. All they needed to do was find a specific person in a large swathe of hostile mountains, and get them out. Doable. The question was how.

“Do the Burned Men have enemies in other clans?” Steve asked.

“Plenty,” Toby said.

“Would they work with us?”

“No chance. Not with lowlanders.”

“What about a neutral ground for a challenge?” Steve said. “Could we win your mother back from them?”

“The only honour the mountain clans have is reserved for each other,” Keladry said. “They’ve none to spare for lowlanders.”

“‘Lowlanders’,” Steve said. “Is that all they think of people outside the clans?”

“At best,” Keladry said.

“So force is our best option.”

“The only option,” Keladry said. There was a heat to her that she hadn’t shown before, her disdain for the clans showing through the composed front she usually wore.

“We could approach the local lord,” Naerys said, having been quiet until now. “Kincaid said that he had been contacted for aid. He would be obliged to help us, given our defence of his people.”

Robin and Lyanna made similar noises of disgust, perhaps louder than they had intended given their guilty looks. “Sorry Naerys,” Robin said.

“I know,” Naerys said, pursing her lips. “But it is an avenue we could pursue.”

“The alternative is heading into the mountains on our own,” Steve said.

“Yeh could recruit a few lads from the village,” a new voice said, speaking from outside the tent.

Steve looked sharply in its direction, watching as a shadow rose up from where it had lain flat next to the eastern tent wall. They must have approached when it was still dark to do so unseen or unheard. “Show yourself,” he commanded.

Walt stuck his head in through the tent flap, and the rest of him soon followed. “Apologies for the intrusion, but if you’re dealing with the mountain clans, I want in,” he said.

“You eavesdrop on every visitor that passes through your village?” Steve asked, somewhat annoyed. Whether it was at himself for missing the man or the man for the intrusion, he couldn’t say.

“Just the nobles,” Walt said.

“How does that go for you?” Steve asked.

“Well, seeing as they never catch me,” he said, shrugging. His clothes were dusty from where he had crawled and hidden out of sight, but he was unbothered.

“You want something,” Steve said.

“I do,” Walt said.

Steve waited, watching the man. He was an old soldier that still had a few fights in him, going by what he had seen last night, and it was best to be wary of those.

“I lost some boys last night, and others have little will to take up the spear again,” Walt said, “but some got a taste for it. You bring me with you when you go to rescue this one’s mother, and I’ll bring ‘em, and train them as part of the deal.”

“You’ll train them,” Steve said, questioning.

“I fought against the Blackfyres in the Stepstones, and learned my craft well,” Walt said. He looked older than Barristan, but that was the harsh life of a smallfolk telling, and he still held a wiry strength.

Steve considered the man. The offer wasn’t without merit.

Walt held his stare, unbothered.

“Why do you want this?” Steve asked at length. He had a suspicion, but he wanted to hear it from the man.

“Clans took someone from me once,” Walt admitted. “I mean to get her back, or make them pay.”

“Then if you think your lads are up for it, we’ll recruit them and follow the trail the raiders left,” Steve said.

“Good,” Walt said, cold satisfaction in his voice. “I’ll tell them you agreed.” Steve cocked an eyebrow at him, and he snorted a laugh. “I knew what I wanted before I came here. We’ll be ready to leave tomorrow.” He let himself out of the tent, a spring in his step.

“Bit rude, innee,” Toby said, a hint of his old self coming through.

Keladry laid a hand on his head, tousling it lightly, but she was smiling.

“This is going to be dangerous,” Steve said, looking to the others. “More dangerous than is right for me to exp-”

“Shut up, Steve,” Naerys said.

“I’m probably safer with you in the middle of a mountain clan camp than I am here on my own,” Lyanna said.

“If Toby is going, I’m going too,” Robin said.

Dodger barked.

Steve sighed, unable to hold back a rueful smile. “I guess that’s that then. We leave tomorrow.”

X

It did not take them long to prepare, shifting what equipment they would need from the wagon to the saddlebags of their horses and the backs of their mules. They would have no comfortable tent for their journey into the mountains, and no wagon to carry their possessions, for what roads there were would not serve well enough, but they would have their mounts and their bedrolls. The rest of the day was spent relaxing, taking advantage of the calm before their march into the deeply hostile territory of a people who had been resisting the rulers of the land for thousands of years, to rescue a woman who had been written off as lost the moment she had been taken nearly a decade ago. For anyone else, it would have been a fool’s errand. For Steve…he’d taken worse odds.

The villagers gave them a solemn send off, thankful for their aid but doubtful of their chances. Walt had eight young men with him, spears on their shoulders and packs hoisted on their backs, even if they seemed a bit empty. They had looted what armour the raiders had worn, and each of them had some basic protection. All of them had family saying their farewells, but none had sweethearts they were leaving behind, and by Steve’s judgement this was by Walt’s design. Grey clouds rolled in as they left the village behind, and it fit the mood.

Steve set a swift pace, and Walt took advantage to drill proper marching technique into the men. They were strong young men, all seasoned by the labour of a farm, but they weren’t anything close to soldiers yet. Toby rode ahead, as was his habit, and Keladry led their small column, eyes alert for foes. The others followed behind so as not to stir up dust to be marched through. As midday approached, Steve slipped off Fury to march beside the old man.

“You seem to know where we’re going,” Steve said. Walt had been subtly nudging their path since their departure.

“We don’t have a lot of things that a soldier might need, back in the village,” Walt said. “I bet the clansmen camp will have a few things though.”

“Acquire the supply of the enemy for the good of the army,” Steve mused.

“That’s it,” Walt said. “You’ve served before then.”

“I’ve done my time,” Steve said.

“Hmm.” Walt eyed him, taking his measure. “You’ve got a bit of babyface, but you fight like a veteran.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, straight faced. They marched in silence for a time, and Steve subtly extended their lead from the rest. “Why were you so eager to get these fellas along on this trip?”

“Because I like our chances with them better than if it was just an old man, two knights, a woman and some kids,” Walt said.

“You saw how they fought,” Steve said. “And you saw what I did. You’ve got another reason.”

Walt chewed the inside of his cheek, the one with the scar tissue in it. “Because as soon as that fight was over, I saw that they’d got a taste for it. They wanted more, just like I did twenty years ago. I was lucky, and had Ninepenny Kings making trouble, but there’s no war on the horizon for them.”

“So you want to get it out of their system,” Steve said.

“Show them it’s not all fun and games, aye,” Walt said. “That, and Kincaid was right about one thing. Tillet will increase what we owe if he sees we’ve men under arms. If we can avoid that, even get some boys sending coin home, we could really start to flourish as a village.”

“No guarantee they all come home.”

“That’s true,” Walt acknowledged. “But I chose who I chose for a reason, and I’ll do my damndest to get them home safe. That’s if they don’t get a taste for the life.”

“I had thoughts about starting a mercenary company,” Steve said. “But this was in Essos, not Westeros.”

“Why would a noble want to do a thing like that?” Walt asked. The land they walked now was starting to grow hillier, and less like the sort of land that a farmer might eye appraisingly.

“I saw things I wanted to change,” Steve said.

“Things you wanted to change, in Essos,” Walt said. “You’re not talking about what I think you’re talking about.”

“Why not?”

Walt snorted. “Pick something easier first, like wiping out the clans.”

“Everything is too hard until someone does it,” Steve said. He wasn’t going to go into the ethics of wiping out a group of people with a soldier in a feudal society. “Something to think about, if the lads get a taste for fighting.”

“As you say,” Walt said.

“What did you say their names were, anyway?” Steve asked.

“Don’t tell them I told you, but they’re Ed, Jon, Symon, Gerold, Tim, Humfrey, Will, and Hugo,” Walt said. “I said you wouldn’t acknowledge them until they could maintain a march and hold a spear line.”

“That’s a reward for them?” Steve said.

“They got a bit excited about the way you knocked over those raiders, don’t let it go to your head, milord,” Walt said.

Steve was starting to get the feeling that Walt wasn’t too concerned with that whole lèse-majesté thing.

“By the time we reach the mountains, I’ll have these lads good enough to not die to the first savage that runs screaming at them with an axe,” he continued.

“They did alright in the raid,” Steve said.

“They were one more death from breaking discipline,” Walt said quietly, after glancing back at them, “and they still held longer than I thought they would.”

“Having something to fight for will do that,” Steve said.

Walt grumbled an agreement. “They’re no household guard, but I suppose they did well enough.”

The two of them spoke on less important matters as they continued on, setting a picture-perfect example of a march for the recruits to mimic, and by early afternoon, they were nearing the camp that the raiders had left behind. It was likely deserted, but still they approached cautiously, Steve and Keladry leading the way, the recruits following under Walt’s strict eye.

It was indeed empty, but there was evidence of somewhat recent activity. Much of the camp looked to have been left in a messy state, as if the owners of the tents and bedrolls were expecting to return, but there was evidence of another that had been present. It seemed there was at least one survivor of the raid on the village.

“What does this mean for us?” Steve asked. “Will the Burned Men be on the lookout for retaliation?”

Walt shook his head and spat.

“They shouldn’t,” Keladry said. “Even the greatest of Houses rarely pursue when the raiders get deep enough into the mountains.”

“Cowards,” Walt grumbled.

“They know that men who go in rarely come out,” Keladry finished.

“Let’s get to looting then,” Steve said. “We’ve still got plenty of daylight.”

They did so, and by the end of it, each recruit had a bedroll and a tent to sleep in, even if some needed a beating and an airing first. There was little of value otherwise however, the most useful loot having been carried by the raiders and taken from their corpses. Before long, it was time to continue on, each man’s pack a little fuller, and their backs a little straighter, feeling more like proper soldiers.

The mountains beckoned.

X x X

The Mountains of the Moon made even the largest of men feel small, and there was a curious sense of being disconnected from the outside world. Through valleys and along ridges they walked, Toby leading the way as he followed marks and signs only apparent to him. While the Arryns might lay claim to the entirety of the Vale, it was clear that there were large swathes of the mountains that knew no lords but the mountain clans. Fields that had never been tilled and mountains that had never been quarried as far as they could see, the barest remains of what might once have been a village the only sign of lowland presence they encountered.

By day they marched, breaking camp with the dawn and following the trails. Come the afternoon, they stopped while the sun still shone and trained. Their options were limited by their need to march again the next day, but Steve and Walt still had plenty of options to improve their raw recruits. The young men soon came to curse the very idea of the push up and the plank, to say nothing of the spear drills they were put through. The weapons may not have been designed for it, but Keladry had them following her glaive exercises as a group, drilling a basic pattern into their minds and muscles. Any cockiness at their growing skills was tamped down by a round of hand to hand in the ring with Steve as they were manhandled like errant children in the pursuit of teaching them basic self-defence. If there were any complaints to be had, the men kept quiet when they saw the kids learning the same moves they were, and a woman more advanced.

In the mountains, there was no lord to lay claim to the deer, or to enforce poaching laws, and so the party ate richly each night. Robin would venture out with Toby and a horse, and return with a hart slung over its back. They had what roots and tubers could be found, but they were few, and despite the eagerness the men showed to be eating so much meat, Steve would be glad for the variety of civilisation when they returned.

Gutting and dressing the hart was a task Steve had taken for himself, finding himself enjoying it, although Dodger constantly begged for scraps. He would watch as Keladry put the men through their drills, leading them with her glaive, while Toby and Walt squabbled over nothing nearby. Robin would produce the reed ring he had taken from the archery competition at Harrenhal, and spend the late afternoon shooting. He was starting to core the ring more often than not, and Lyanna would cheer him when he did. Naerys liked to sit and read, keeping an eye on them all.

After everyone had been thrown around in the dirt by Steve in the name of training, all were ready for a hot meal, the spices he had restocked before leaving Riverrun doing wonders for morale.

On the seventh night of their journey into the mountains, Steve watched the stars emerge as night fell, enjoying the warmth cast by the fire. They were all gathered around it, small conversations taking place as they digested their meal. The villagers had made to set up their own area the first night they made camp, but Steve had waved off the idea, and they had shared a fire each night since. He had apparently underestimated the social divide between the smallfolk and a lord however, as none of the recruits had struck up a conversation with him, and even Walt had shown a more respectful side. He ignored the thought that it had taken time to work on Robin and Lyanna to get them to drop the formality, arguably the only two of his companions who had joined his retinue in anything approaching normal circumstances.

“Excuse me, Ser Steve?”

Maybe tonight was the night, Steve thought. “Yes, Symon?”

Symon swallowed as he became the focus of attention of all around the campfire. He was a tall and slender man with dark hair, but the week on the march had already done him some good. “I was wondering, well me and the lads were wondering,” and here there were some entirely silent recriminations from his fellows, “what part of the Kingdoms you come from?”

“I’m not from the Seven Kingdoms,” Steve said.

Glances were exchanged as Steve made no move to answer further.

“Why do you ask? You draw the short straw?” Steve said, mouth quirked.

“Ay-Nay, milord,” Symon said. “We were just wondering where you learned to trample people like you did at the village.”

“That’s just something I picked up,” Steve said. “It’s mostly the armour, really. Nothing special.”

“What would you count as something special then?” Another man asked. It was Hugo, the biggest of the men, one that Steve had heard the others teasing for sometimes taking over for the ox when it tired of the plough. “Er, milord.”

“Ser Steve is fine,” Steve said. He had almost told them to call him Steve, days ago, but the look in Naerys’ eye had persuaded him otherwise. “I don’t know what you’d call something special.”

“Tell them about the Kingswood Brotherhood,” Naerys said from her seat next to him.

“Or the melee final,” Robin said from across the fire.

“The seabeast that almost drowned ya,” Toby suggested.

“I guess the melee final at the Harrenhal tournament was something,” Steve said.

“We heard about that,” another man, Tim, said eagerly. He had large ears and spoke quickly, leaning forwards. “Trader came through last month who’d been there. That was really you who won it? Milord.”

The men looked interested, and so Steve gave in without much reluctance. “Yeah, that was me. I had some people try to get in my way, but I made it to the finals without much trouble. I had some good fights against Robert Baratheon, Yohn Royce, and Barristan the Bold.”

“Lord Royce!” Tim said, admiringly. “What was he like?”

“Well, he put up a good fight and he can move like nobody’s business in that bronze armour of his…”

Steve spun the tale of his melee victory, speaking well of his opponents and their skill. The camp was enthralled, even those who had been there to see it themselves. When the admiration got to be a bit much, Steve shifted attention by throwing Robin and Toby under the bus, and mentioning their third and second places in the archery and horse racing. They retaliated with his antics in the axe throwing, and he was obliged to tell that story as well. The recruits relaxed as the tales were told, and they saw the common folk of his retinue exchange friendly mockings with him. They fed the fire twice over the course of the telling, and by the end, all were filled with the quiet cheer of full bellies and good company. The stars twinkled overhead as silence crept in.

“What do you spose will happen when we find the clanners?” Jon, the quietest of the men asked. His nose was long and hooked, and he preferred to listen than to speak.

A solemnity came over the fire. In their isolation, and the simple cheer of their routine, it was easy to forget that their small band was marching towards the most feared of all the mountain clans, intent on taking the fight to them.

“Without knowing their defences, I can’t say,” Steve said. “But whatever we do, we do it smart. That might mean extracting our target quietly, or it might mean me making a distraction while you go in and get them out.”

The men accepted his words, reassured at least that Steve seemed to have the beginnings of a plan.

“One thing I will make clear though,” Steve said, and here his tone hardened. “We’re attacking their home, and that means non-combatants. If a child runs at you with a weapon, you disarm them, kick them away, but you do not strike them with steel. Am I understood?”

There was a pause as they took in his words, and no one answered.

“Aye, Lord America,” Walt said. “They understand.”

“They never spared our young uns,” Gerold, a wiry man with a healing cut along his jaw, said. “Why show mercy to some who’re just gonna raid us in a few seasons?” He stared into the fire, away from the glare Walt was giving him.

“We don’t know each other well,” Steve said quietly. “I know you’ve suffered from their raids, and I know you’re here as much for revenge as you are in hopes of rescuing those they’ve stolen, but I believe that you’re better than the clansmen who raided you.” He looked around the fire. “If you march with me, then you act like men, not animals.”

“We understand, Lord,” Humfrey said. He had killed two clansmen in the raid, and the others looked up to him. His head was shaved, and a scar over his left eye pulled it half closed in a perpetual squint. “We won’t shame you.”

“It’s not about shame,” Steve said. “It’s about being better, and being able to look the people you defended in the eye afterwards.” His retinue, and some of the men, were watching him intently as they absorbed his words, but others seemed doubtful. “We’re in these mountains to set right a wrong, not cause another.”

“Yes, milord,” came the answers, the villagers each murmuring their assent.

Steve sighed. “Speak with me tomorrow if you wish. I won’t hold it against you, and it’s getting late.”

“Humfrey, you’ve got first watch with Symon,” Walt said. “G-”

“I’ll take the midnight shift,” Steve said.

“As you say,” Walt said. “Gerold, you have the third watch with Ed…”

The night came to an end, not on the happiest of notes, but giving those new to Steve’s company plenty to think about.

X

It was midmorning the following day and they were well on their way. The sun was obscured by light grey clouds, and they were making their way along a trail at the edge of a valley, near the slope. It reminded Steve of some of a picturesque Swiss valley he and the Commandos had ambushed a convoy of Hydra agents in during the War. None of the men had approached Steve yet, and he had seen a few considering glances at Toby as he guided them, but from what he heard of their whispered conversations, he was optimistic. He was considering breaking for lunch when their journey was interrupted.

At the head of the column, Toby’s head jerked up. “Off the trail, quick!” He and Quicksilver darted off the trail and up the slope, into the dense woods that carpeted the mountain side.

The rest of them followed his lead, not questioning their guide. Into the woods they went, man and beast, until they were shrouded by its gloom and could just see the trail they had come from.

Those mounted dismounted, and Steve approached Toby. “What did you see?”

“Quicksilver smelled sommat,” Toby said. “Another horse.”

“How far away?”

“Dunno,” Toby said. He fidgeted in place.

“You made the right call,” Steve said. “We wait,” he said to Keladry, and she passed on his word. She had her glaive out, and like Steve wore the under layer of her armour, the quilted jacket and chausses offering some protection while they travelled.

They hunkered down, watching and waiting in silence. Birds took up their calls once more, after they had been disturbed by the party’s intrusion into the forest. As was always the way, many of them were suddenly aware of a pressing need to answer the call of nature, but they persevered, waiting. Ten minutes and half an eternity later, they began to hear faint sounds of movement.

Through the trees, they watched, catching glimpses as a party made their way along the trail. There were perhaps two dozen mountain clansmen, some mounted, but most not. They were armed and armoured for a fight, and they spoke boisterously with one another in their own tongue. Steve thought he could make out burns on a few of them.

“We’ll hit them as they pass,” Steve said. “We can’t let them go if there’s a chance they might raid another village.”

Walt nodded. “I’ll ready the lads.” He scuttled over to them, whispering orders.

“Toby, can you get the horses to throw their riders?” Steve asked.

“Uh, maybe?” Toby said. “But I’d have to shout for them to hear me, and they might like their riders.”

“It’s not a mental thing?” He watched as the clansmen drew closer.

“Wot?” Toby asked. “How am I supposed to tell the horses what to do without talking to them?”

“Alright then. Can you send our horses down the slope after I engage, before the men do?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, I can do that,” Toby said, nodding slowly.

“Naerys, you’ll stay with Lyanna up here,” Steve said. “Robin, follow the men down, and pick off any riders you can. We don’t want them escaping and carrying word of our presence.”

The three of them nodded, Robin and Naerys more at ease than Lyanna. He caught her glancing at Naerys’ short sword; he might have to get her an easily hidden dagger or something.

Walt returned. “They’re ready. You want to lead a charge, hit them as they pass?”

“No, Keladry will lead the charge,” Steve said. “I’m going to slip around behind them and slit throats until they notice me.”

Keladry accepted his words, only a faint clenching of her jaw giving away any nerves. Walt looked like he might have argued had the raiders not been so close.

“Walt will be at your back, you just focus on cutting through the highlanders and keeping yourself alive,” Steve said. “You start charging when the front of their line reaches you, or when they see me, whichever comes first.”

“I won’t let you down, Ser,” Keladry said.

“I know,” Steve said. He gave them all a nod. “See you on the other side.” He darted off, keeping low to the ground and angling to keep as many trees between him and the path as possible.

The talk of the mountainfolk grew louder, and Steve stopped behind a tree as he reached them. His shield was on his back, and he held a rondel dagger in his right hand. His heart beat steadily as he waited for them to pass. The horses led the way, and he could hear them snort and whicker.

Silently, Steve paced down the slope towards the trail, emerging onto it in the wake of the raiders. The man at the rear of the party bore a heavy pack, and was humming as he walked. In one motion, Steve covered his mouth and drove his dagger up through the base of his skull and into his brain. The man jerked for a moment, and then went limp, and Steve lowered him gently to the ground. He stepped silently after the next man in line and repeated the process.

As he reached for the third man, he happened to turn, as if to say something to those already dead. His eyes widened as he saw Steve standing there, bloody dagger in hand. The soldier took him by the neck and squeezed, blocking any noise from escaping his throat, and the raider beat at him helplessly, until Steve stabbed him through the eye.

The sounds of his fruitless attempts at defence did not go unheard, however, and the next two men in the column looked back. They saw the dagger piercing out the back of their friend’s skull, and their hands went to their axes, shouting the alarm.

Steve kicked the corpse towards them, fouling their charge long enough to get his shield on his arm, and the fight was on.

The clansmen turned as one to face the mad Andal who had attacked them alone in their own territory, but then came the thunder of hooves. A small herd of horses and mules emerged from the woods and trampled all in their path, kicking and biting. In their wake came a line of spearmen, led by a tall figure with an enormous polearm, and they wasted no time in taking advantage of the chaos left by them, thrusting their spears out in a simple practised motion. An arrow buzzed from the woods to take the raid leader in the throat and he fell from his horse, choking on his own blood.

Steve killed the two closest to him with a blow to the head from his shield and a cut throat with his dagger, and he kicked the next man in the head, snapping his neck. One of the riders tried to bull past him, heading back the way they came, but he leapt and spun, kicking the man from his horse and sending him tumbling down the valley slope. Another arrow took the third rider in the gut, and the fourth and last was pulled from his mount by Redbloom, the roan warhorse biting his fur cloak and pulling with a toss of his head. Flying hooves and the sound of splattering spoke to his fate when he hit the ground.

In scant moments their ambush had reduced the party of over twenty to a bare half dozen, and Walt reduced that further as he speared a man through the chest. Steve grabbed the next man to run at him by the arm and headbutted him, sending him to the ground, senseless. He watched as Keladry led the others in killing the last of them. Silence fell on the valley once more in the wake of the violence.

Picking up the man he had headbutted, Steve tossed him to Hugo. “Bind this one,” he said, before turning to the valley and the man he had kicked off his horse. He was just regaining his senses as Steve reached him, and he tried to lunge at him with a knife. Steve slapped it from his hand, and headbutted him for good measure, before dragging him back up to the others.

He found the other survivor bound hand and foot, sat down on the side of the trail, a torrent of insults flowing from him, not that he could understand them.

“What language is that?” Steve asked.

“Old Tongue,” Keladry said. “Only spoken by the mountain clans and some in the North.”

Toby said something back to their talkative captive, and the man laughed and spat at him. Toby spat back, wiping his arm on the man’s furs to boot.

The second captive was dumped beside the first, and one of the men bound him quickly. It was Ed, a blond with a short beard who was good with knots.

“Do you speak Common?” Steve asked.

“Fuck you, lowlander,” the rider Steve had kicked off his horse said, even as his companion continued to spew insults.

“So that’s a yes,” Steve said. “I’ve got a few questions.”

“Take your questions and fuck your mother with them,” the more polite of the two said. One ear looked to have been seared off, now a lump of scarred flesh.

“Why are you raiding? What was your target? Do you have enemies nearby?” Steve asked, as if he hadn’t heard.

“And when you’re done with her, go fuck your father too,” the man continued. “Dry, just like my clan is going to do to you.”

Toby had gotten tired of the other man’s vitriol, and had started flicking him on the nose every time he spoke. The results were mixed.

“If you answer my questions, I’ll give you a death on your feet with your weapon in hand,” Steve said.

The insults stopped. “Lowlanders lie,” the other man said. He glared at Toby as the boy paused in his flicking.

“You aren’t a threat to me,” Steve said simply.

The clansmen swallowed, remembering what they’d seen of him during the short fight.

“We won’t tell you about our camp,” the horseman said.

“I’m not here to wipe you out, just rescue those you’ve stolen,” Steve said.

“You’re here for a bunch of mewling quims?” the one eared man asked. He caught a glimpse of Naerys and Lyanna as they emerged from the woods to join them. “Kind of you to bring us more,” he said, breaking into a grating laugh.

“They put up a better fight than you did,” Steve said, shrugging. “Do we have a deal or not?”

The man glared, but relented. “We were headed for the lowlands. We needed supplies. This is Burned Men land, and none dare challenge us. Happy?”

The other man said something to Toby in the Old Tongue, but it didn’t have the sound of an insult, and Toby answered, suspicious.

“We’re near one of your camps then?” Steve asked. “Not your main stronghold?”

The one eared man seemed to realise what he had given away, and clamped his mouth shut, murder in his eyes.

Toby was speaking intently to his captive now, low and fast. Gerold and Symon were sharing an uncertain glance behind them.

“Nothing else to say?” Steve asked, distracting him from the discussion.

“Give me my weapon, lowlander,” he growled out.

“Untie him,” Steve said to Ed, “and give him his weapon.” He turned his back on him, taking a few steps away.

When he turned back, the clansman was on his feet, rubbing his wrists as the others stepped away from him. Steve held his arms out in open invitation, and the raider charged. It was over in a heartbeat, Steve stabbing him in the heart and letting his momentum carry him past him into the dirt. He died with a curse on his lips.

With the other prisoner, Toby bounced to his feet, an uncontrollable smile on his face. “I knew he was lying, that dirty piece o’ cud!”

“Who was lying? What did he say?” Keladry asked.

“Ma’s ok,” Toby said. “Chet was fulla shit like always.” He rushed Keladry and threw his arms around her.

Keladry returned the hug, holding him close.

“What happened?” Naerys asked.

“He said the Princess took Ma in,” Toby said. “Kept anyone from claimin’ her as a wife.”

“Princess?” Keladry asked.

“I dunno, she’s one of the Burned Men women,” Toby said.

“You’re being real helpful for mountain scum,” Walt said. “You got a reason for that?”

The prisoner sneered at Walt, but said something to Toby, not deigning to speak in Common.

“He said Ma helped him when he was wounded one time, stopped the sickness from gettin’ in,” Toby explained.

Walt considered them for a long moment, before almost forcing a question out. “What’d you say your Ma’s name was, boy?”

“She’s just Ma,” Toby said, looking at him oddly.

“Free me, and give me my axe,” the captive demanded.

“You’re not going to ask for your freedom after that?” Steve asked.

“Old Gods drink from you,” the man said. “I die with my band.”

Steve gave Ed a nod, and the red bearded man untied the clansman. The man charged Steve immediately, and he obliged with a quick death. He turned his eye to more important matters, running his eye over the men and making sure none were wounded. There were a few scratches here and there, but nothing serious, although the straps of Jon’s gorget were hanging on by a thread.

“Get these bodies off the trail,” Steve ordered. “Loot them for any useful items. We’ll bury them to keep any predators away.” Will, a lithe man with a dense auburn beard, was the first to respond, but he was quickly joined by Humfrey and Hugo in dragging the bodies away.

Robin dropped from a tree at the edge of the woods, and went about collecting his arrows as the bodies were gathered.

“I’ll get the shovel,” Tim muttered, approaching the mule with it in its pack.

“Toby, we’ve got four new horses,” Steve said. “Introduce them to the others?”

“Yep,” Toby said, almost skipping as he let go of Keladry and approached the horses that had belonged to the clansmen. They were smaller than even Quicksilver, but too large to be called a pony, and had shaggier coats.

“Good news,” Steve muttered to Keladry as she joined him in supervising.

“Aye,” she said back. “But I don’t know what he meant by a princess. Mountain clans don’t have them, and no Targaryen ever went missing or was taken.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Steve said.

“We will,” Keladry said, a grimly satisfied set to her mouth as she watched the bodies be taken away. “We’re close.”

Overhead, a falcon gave a cry as it wheeled away. They were closer than they knew.

X x X

Steve and Keladry began wearing their full plate the next day, and it was well that they did, because on the eighth day they found the Burned Men camp. At the base of a deep couloir in the mountain side, and even on the gradual back side, a number of huts had been built. They had the look of temporary dwellings, and if the region saw any amount of snow, they wouldn’t last through the winter, built where they were, but the palisade wall stretching across its entrance made it a strong position.

The men wielding bows and spears behind the wall only made it stronger. The gates were shut and barred, and it looked like they were expecting trouble.

“They know we’re coming,” Steve said. From the cover of nearby woods, they watched the camp, planning their move.

“Don’t know how, but aye,” Walt said. He was staring at the camp wall like a starved dog, undeterred.

“There’s a group leaving up the other side,” Robin said. “Just past the huts, see?”

Steve looked where Robin indicated, and he saw what he saw. A small group was leaving the camp behind, and some looked to be herding or pulling others. “I see them. Too big to be children.”

“They’re getting the women away,” Walt said. “Stopping us from rescuing them.” His voice was threaded through with cold rage.

“There’s women amongst them,” Robin said, eyes hawklike. “They’re all on foot.”

“Why would they evacuate the women,” Keladry said, frowning.

“Maybe they know we’re coming, but not how many?” Naerys said.

Keladry shook her head, unconvinced. “That doesn’t feel right.”

“They’re gettin’ away,” Toby said, and Khal, the great black horse he rode, mirrored his anxiety, stamping the earth.

“There won’t be an easy way around,” Steve said, “not if they’ve chosen this site and blocked it off like that. We need to go through them.”

“I’ve seen stronger walls,” Walt said. “A mounted charge could carry us through. Crush the clansmen, catch up to the women, get them on the horses, run.” Even as he said it, it was clear he didn’t fully believe in the plan. “It could work.”

“Lots of risk someone falls behind,” Steve said. He could count maybe fifty men and women under arms in the village, and not a child to be seen.

“They’re gettin’ away,” Toby said again, and it was clear he wouldn’t wait much longer.

“Lyanna, get me my horn,” Steve said. He checked his shield straps and that his hammer was resting snug on his back.

Lyanna darted off to the mule that held his possessions, digging through the pack.

“What are you planning?” Naerys asked, brows furrowed.

“They’re putting on a big show to scare us off,” Steve said. “I’m going to show them that we aren’t.”

“You mean to challenge them,” Keladry said.

“Clans don’t accept challenges from lowlanders, and even if they do they won’t honour them,” Walt argued.

“I’m not going to give them a choice,” Steve said. He accepted the horn from Lyanna, and tied it off at his hip. “Naerys, Lyanna, you’ll stay here. “Hugo, Gerold, you’re with them. If you look to be attacked out here, you’re to retreat rather than engage if possible.”

The big man, Hugo, nodded easily, and so did Gerold, but he looked disappointed, the cut along his jaw pulling with his grimace.

“Toby, Walt, you two are at my back. Keladry and Robin, you’re behind them. Humfrey, you and the rest of the lads are in pairs bringing up the rear. Look mean.”

“Sure you don’t want Hugo and Gerold for that then?” Humfrey asked.

“I want you to look mean, not scare them off entirely,” Steve said. The men laughed, low and eager. “Toby, get a horse for Walt.”

One of the shaggy mountain horses was selected, and they all got in formation. Steve took a deep breath. “If this doesn’t work, you’re to pull back as a group and make for last night’s camp.”

“And what do you mean to do?” Keladry asked, tone pointed.

“Discourage the enemy.”

“We’ll not leave you behind,” Humfrey objected. “Not after what you’ve done for us.”

“I said discourage the enemy, not sacrifice myself,” Steve said. “That means I kill them until they don’t want to follow.” He put on his helm. “Let me do the talking here. Toby, you’ll translate what I say, as I say it.”

“Aye Steve,” Toby said. His eyes were bright, and Khal was quivering with suppressed energy.

“Everyone ready?” Steve asked. The answers were positive, and he donned his helm. “Time to be heroes.” He lifted his horn to his lips.

To the clansmen in the camp, the dirge-like sound that rang out across the mountains must have sounded like the hunting cry of a beast escaped from some foul pit. Many started in fright as they heard it, the sound triggering a piece of their hind brains that told them they were prey. Their attention was pulled to the woods it came from, and many in the camp rushed towards the gate, sure that some threat was about to descend upon them. When out came an Andal knight and their party, many laughed, secretly relieved. They knew how to deal with knights.

Slowly, the interlopers approached. The proud clansmen watched, glad for the distraction to take their mind off other troubles. The forest’s edge was some few hundred metres away, and the pace of the knight was not hurried. When he reached the halfway point, he sounded his horn once more, and in their hearts they could not help but quail. They stood strong, pride not allowing them to show their unease. The knight was a fool, they told themselves, he knew not what he was walking towards.

Steve neared the palisade walls, guiding Fury in a confident walk. He looked upon the archers without fear, before finally coming to a stop just before the gates. “Burned Men!” he boomed. “My name is Steve Rogers, and I challenge your leader!” Toby repeated his words, the guttural language sapping the youth from his voice.

Laughter was their response, and one man put down his spear so he could piss over the wall in his direction.

“Well, I tried being polite,” Steve said to himself, before clearing his throat. “GOAT FUCKERS! Cravens you are, hiding behind your walls at the first sign of a lowland knight!” He waited for Toby to repeat his words, smiling thinly as the laughter stopped. “Every member of your clan that I killed told me what warriors you are, how strong you are, but I see them for the liars they were. How quick you are to piss your breeches at the first sign of a real man!”

The mood of the clansmen turned sour, and one was quick to string and loose an arrow at him. Steve saw it coming, and batted it contemptuously away with the back of his hand.

“I know girls with bigger balls than the man who shot that arrow,” Steve called. “Let me in to face your leader, or live with the knowledge of your cowardice!”

There was arguing behind the wall, and Steve waited. Slowly, the gates began to creak open. Without pause he nudged Fury onwards, and his comrades followed. They entered the mountain clan village, and got their first proper look at what waited for them.

There was an open area behind the wall, and in the centre a small group waited. It was more accurate to call it two groups, for all they tried to present themselves as one, for each of the dozen men were clearly standing at the back of two men in particular. One was a hard, lean looking man who wore no shirt despite the brisk mountain air, and his torso was covered in deliberate burns, designed to look like something with horns. He had an axe at one hip, and a fine looking sword at the other.

The other was much younger, still a boy in truth, no more than Robin’s age, and a falcon perched on his shoulder. He was missing an eye, burn scars clear around its empty socket, and he wore a tattered cloak that might have once been green. A bright dagger was at his hip, and he bore no other weapon.

The older of the two spoke first. “Who are you to come to the lands of my father and call me craven?”

The boy shot him a dark glance, before turning back to Steve. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here to rescue the women you stole from their homes and raped,” Steve said. He spoke to the boy, but his eyes passed over the others before him, and they felt a shiver run down their spines. “If you’re smart, you won’t get in my way.”

“You have already failed,” the man said, sneering. His Common was poor. “They go to my father’s stronghold.”

“I’m not talking to you,” Steve said, eyes on the boy. His gut was telling him there was something else going on here.

“You have come into the depths of our mountains, all to save women stolen many years ago?” the boy asked.

“I have,” Steve said.

The boy squinted at him with his sole eye, approaching warily. “Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.” The words were easy, but they often were when they were sincere.

The boy backed away, stopping next to the other supposed leader, closer than he was before. The falcon on his shoulder spread its wings and flapped, taking flight. “You best speak with truth on your tongue, lowlander,” he said, and then he turned and hamstrung the other man with a single slice of his dagger.

Chaos erupted, as the clansmen turned on each other, shouting with rage, but not surprise.

“Support the kid!” Steve shouted, and then he pulled his hammer from his back and joined the carnage.

There was no telling the feuding clansmen apart, so Steve and his people were forced on the defensive, attacking only those who attacked them, or the kid, as he continued carving up the man he had taken completely by surprise. Like a master butcher and a prize hog, the boy was reducing the once strong man slice by slice.

“I am Tagart, son of Timett!” the man bellowed, as he tried and failed to rise. “I will not-”

“Yer a dead man,” the boy said, ripping his dagger across his throat with a messy cut.

Steve killed two men who attacked the boy from behind, trampling one into the dirt and flattening the other with a single hammer blow. “How do we tell your people apart from his?” he demanded.

“If they’ve got a burn under their eye, they be mine,” the boy said.

“Keladry!” Steve said, barking her name. “Burn marks under their right eyes are friendlies!”

Keladry cut a man from shoulder to hip and spun to let her crack another between the eyes with the iron butt of her weapon, Redbloom guarding her back. She nodded, already wheeling to face her next foe.

Robin was shooting from horseback, steering with his knees, a far cry from the first days out of King’s Landing when he could hardly sit straight in a saddle. He shot one of two men trying to kill each other on the platform by the palisade wall, already looking for another target before he started to fall.

“They took the women out of the village before you arrived,” the boy said. His falcon was back on its shoulder, and its beak and talons were bloody. “If we’re not quick, they’ll vanish.”

Steve nodded. “We’ll finish the foes here, and-”

“No time,” the boy said, scowling. “My people will win, if yours help, but we need to leave now.”

“Fine,” Steve said. There was no time to waste time arguing. “Toby, Walt, with me! Keladry, you finish things here!” He hauled the boy up onto his horse to sit him at his back, and kicked Fury into a gallop through the village. The falcon took off once more, soaring ahead.

Toby and Walt followed, and Khal kicked a man in the head as they passed. They slowed only to thread through the stakes that had been raised to block the rear of the village, and then they were powering up the gradual slope of the mountainside.

“What’s your name?” Steve asked the kid at his back.

“I am Artos, son of Kelda,” the one-eyed boy said. “Leader of the Green Falcons.”

“I thought you were Burned Men?” Steve asked.

“Not anymore.”

The slope they followed became less gradual, and they were forced to slow. Soon it was too steep for the horses at all.

“We will go by foot,” Artos said. “There are stairs cut into the mountain ahead.”

Walt eyed Artos suspiciously, but dismounted as Steve and Toby did. Artos led the way to the path, an almost vertical staircase that they could have easily missed. Steve stowed his hammer on his back, and Walt abandoned his spear.

“They should not be far from the top,” Artos said. “If they have time to get out of sight, we will not be able to track them over the rock.” He sped up the stairs with the ease of practice.

Toby was close behind him, scampering with the agility and fearlessness of youth, and Walt hardly paused, anger and hope lending him vigour. Steve followed up the rear, ready to catch anyone who fell.

Their goal gave them speed, and they almost flew up the mountainside. There was some loose rock, and a patch of clear ice that almost saw Walt slip and fall, but they reached the top of the staircase without injury, not at the top of the mountain, but at the top of the couloir. The four of them scanned their surrounds with in frantic silence, and they looked to have been too late.

“There,” Steve said, pointing towards the edge of some woods in the distance. A party of people were just disappearing into it.

“Fifteen warriors they have,” Artos said.

“It won’t be enough,” Steve said.

Walt began to run across the rocky ground, eyes fixed on the trees that he could only hope would hold what he had sought in vain for years. The others followed him without delay. The hunt was on.

Across the shale they ran, loose rock proving treacherous footing. Walt pulled ahead, uncaring, intent on reaching the clansmen if it killed him. Toby and Artos sprang along as they tried to keep up, but their strides were shorter and the gap widened. They would have been left behind, if not for Steve. He gathered them up as he barrelled past, tucking one under each arm. Ignoring their flailing and cursing, he picked his way across the rock carefully, barely running faster than a grown man’s sprint, until he drew even with Walt. The old soldier pushed himself harder, almost slipping, barely glancing at the absurd sight. Shale fragments cracked and clattered as they thundered onwards.

As they passed the halfway mark, the terrain started to shift from loose to solid rock. They could feel themselves gaining, even if their quarry was hidden from sight. Steve leapt over a crevasse, glancing back to see Walt hop over. He almost missed the buzz of the arrow as it shot out of the woods. He twisted, letting it hit his shield, and slowed enough that the kids could hit the ground running as he let them go.

“Stay behind me,” Steve ordered. He ignored Artos’ furious look; kids were kids no matter how many people they had killed or had in their tribe. Another arrow came whistling out at him, and he let it deflect off his chest. They had almost reached the tree line.

Four clansmen were waiting for them there, snarling at them with murder in their eyes, and Steve killed two of them as he crashed through, caving in the torso of one with his shield as he clotheslined another, breaking their neck. The distraction was enough for Walt to fall upon another, strangling him with one hand as he stabbed him in a blur of speed with the dagger in his other. Toby and Artos took the last man apart like a pair of wolves bringing down a bison, leaving him to choke in his own blood as they ran after the two men, already moving on.

There was no moving quietly in plate armour as he ran through the trees, and as Steve reached the rear of the party they pursued, two clansmen turned back at the rattle. It didn’t help them, as he killed one with a punch to the throat and dented the skull of the other with the edge of his shield. An arrow soared over his shoulder from behind to sink into the side of another raider, and Steve glanced back to see that Walt had taken up the bow of the man he had killed. Toby and Artos joined him on either side, anger and fury on their faces, their knives dripping with blood. They had well and truly caught the attention of their prey.

“Last chance,” Steve said. “Let the women go, and I’ll let you walk away.”

Toby didn’t repeat his words this time, mostly because he was staring at one of the women. “Ma!”

“Tobias!” the blonde woman shouted, hope warring with terror on her face.

The clansmen gave him no answer, not verbally. Most of them charged forward, weapons raised as they howled, looking every inch the barbarians they were painted as. The man who already had an arrow in his side gurgled and fell as another pierced his throat, and Steve stepped forward to meet the rest. The first was kicked in the chest and sent flying, already dead, knocking another two off their feet. He pulled his hammer from his back and struck, bowling over the three who had tried to swarm him. The boys scurried forward to take advantage, stabbing the disorientated men as they were down.

Steve had almost been going through the motions, utterly unchallenged by his foes, but seeing the boys kill like that made him frown. He stepped quickly, granting quick deaths to the last of them with snapped necks and crushed skulls, before turning to the last two clansmen. There was blood on his shield and brain matter clinging to his hammer, and they quailed as they saw him.

There were five women with them, mostly dressed in the same style as the clansmen, save for one woman who wore an almost courtly dress, save for the way it was faded and fraying. One of the clansmen found some semblance of courage, and he grabbed the woman in the dress, holding a knife to her throat. He shouted something at them in his own tongue, shaking the woman as he did. His meaning was clear.

Artos growled something back, his falcon alighting on his shoulder, but the man denied him, jerking his head at Steve.

“He says you gotta drop the hammer and shield, or the princess gets it,” Toby said. His gaze was pinned to his mother.

Slowly, Steve placed his hammer on the ground, kneeling as he did. He slipped his shield off his arm, and held his hands out to show he had no more weapons. The clansman seemed to gain confidence, dismissing him as a threat. He barked something at his last comrade, pointing his chin at the other women.

The moment the man’s attention was elsewhere, Steve picked up a pebble by his boot. With a flick of his wrist, he threw it as hard as he could. His aim was true, and it pulped the eyeball on its way to the clansman’s brain. He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, his hostage twisting to avoid the knife at her throat.

There was only one clansman left, and he began to back away as Steve rose to his feet, but Steve wasn’t the danger here. As one, the other four women pulled out hidden knives and fell upon him, each stabbing with a frenzy. He had time to scream once before he was stabbed through the neck and he collapsed, but the women kept stabbing.

Artos rushed the woman who had been held hostage, and she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his hair. His falcon began to preen her from its perch on his shoulder.

The last clansman thoroughly dead, the women stepped away from his corpse, one staggering off to vomit in a nearby bush. Two of the other three held each other, but the last, Toby’s mother, stared as Walt stumbled up to join them, sucking in heaving breaths.

“Father!” the blonde woman cried, staring at Walt.

“Father?!” Toby yelped.

“Eleni!” Walt roared, tears in his eyes. He began to reach for her.

Toby squawked, and Eleni seemed to remember he was there, because she lunged for him, gathering him up on her way to fall into her father’s arms. Toby found himself the conflicted meat of a family reunion sandwich.

Steve tore a strip of fabric from a dead man’s clothes, and approached the woman who had been throwing up, offering it out to her. He would leave the boys to their reunions with their mothers.

The woman tensed as she looked up to see him approach, but accepted the cloth, wiping her face with it. She had a fading bruise on her cheek. “Thank you,” she said, voice hoarse.

“We’ll head back to the camp, get you some water,” Steve said. He glanced at the two women who had taken solace in each other; they had drifted closer when he had approached. “You’re all safe now. No one will hurt you.”

Wary stares were his answer, and he noted that he couldn’t see where they’d stowed the knives they’d used to kill their foe. He turned away, giving them some privacy.

Artos was being quietly fretted over by his mother, something which he took stoically. Eleni was clutching her father and her son to herself, asking questions of both but giving neither time to answer.

Steve approached Artos and his mother, Kelda. “Princess, is it?”

The woman laughed wetly. She had light brown hair, and there were tear tracks on her cheeks. “Only as the clans see it,” she said. “Did my uncle send you?”

“I don’t know who that is,” Steve apologised. “We came here to rescue Toby’s mother, and any other women we found.”

“Eleni’s boy?” Kelda asked. “So my rescue comes due to a small act of kindness. The gods must be laughing.”

“I don’t know about the gods ma’am, but we’re here because a son loves his mother,” Steve said. He glanced at Toby, and then Artos. “I’m glad we got here in time.”

“My little wing,” Kelda said, hugging her son tighter for a moment. Artos muttered something in his own tongue that had the tone of a complaint, but didn’t try to move. “My name is Kelda Waynwood. Jon Arryn is my uncle.”

“I met him not long ago,” Steve said. “He seemed a decent sort.”

“I remember he was fond of me, but that didn’t save me from fifteen years amongst the Burned Men,” Kelda said. “I’ve lived almost half my life with those savages. If it wasn’t for my son-” she cut herself off.

“I understand,” Steve said. “Your son kicked off a small civil war to save you. You must be proud of him.”

Kelda gave her son a look. “I didn’t think you had the numbers - oh.” She glanced at Steve. “Your forces are at the camp? How many?”

“Ten or so,” Steve said.

“You came into the mountains to attack the Burned Men with ten men?” Kelda asked, incredulous.

“I left two men with the non-combatants,” Steve said.

“You saw what he did to Rogart and his ilk,” Artos said.

“You’re braver than I thought,” Kelda said. “Thank you, from my heart, thank you. You’ve saved us from a fate worse than you know Ser…?”

“Steve Rogers,” he said.

“Thank you, Ser Rogers,” Kelda said. “You hail from the Stormlands House?”

“Er, no, not that Rogers,” Steve said. He glanced at the others, seeing Walt holding Eleni holding Toby, and the other three women clustered together. “We should get back to the camp though, make sure everyone is alright.”

“Of course,” Kelda said. She gave a giddy laugh. “It’s almost over,” she said to herself, trailing off.

Steve took up his weapons again, cleaning them on the clothes of the dead, and gathered everyone up, setting off to return to the village. Though he worried for Keladry and the rest, his heart was light. They had done a good thing this day.

X

The trek back to the camp was somewhat slower than their earlier mad pursuit, and Steve got a front seat view to Eleni interrogating her son over what he’d been up to since his raid party disappeared. Walt was recovering his breath, half holding his daughter, half leaning on her, as he came to terms with having such a ‘mouthy little shit’ for a grandson, as he’d called Toby when they first met. They descended down the stairs of the couloir without trouble, finding their horses waiting patiently for them. They formed an honour guard of sorts as they walked the last of the distance to the huts, Toby giving Artos and his falcon a pugnacious look.

There was a welcoming party waiting for them as they neared the stakes at the back of the village camp, and Steve smiled as he saw Keladry and Robin amongst them. They seemed uninjured, though Keladry had a bloody streak across her temple, hair plastered to it. Dodger sat at her heels, panting happily.

Artos began speaking with his men, a boy giving orders to grown men, but they listened attentively and split off one by one.

“How are the men?” Steve asked Keladry.

“Uninjured or superficial wounds for the most part, but Jon took a bad knock to the head,” Keladry said. “We’ve made him comfortable, but we won’t know his chances until he makes it through the night.”

Steve frowned. He had led these men here, and they were his responsibility. “I’ll take a look at him,” he said. “The enemy?”

“Dead to the last,” Keladry said. “There’s not a fighter here that doesn’t have a burn beneath their eye.”

“You know Artos did that to himself?” Robin said, piping up. “His eye, I mean.”

“Burned Men rite of passage,” Walt said. “They all do it. The burning, that is”

“Back in King’s Landing you just had to make it to a brothel without your parents finding out,” Robin said.

“We are Burned Men no more,” Artos said, approaching them. He looked up at Steve, single eye piercing. “Steve, son of…?

“Sarah,” Steve said.

“Steve, son of Sarah. We should talk,” he said, seeming pleased by something, before walking off, heading for the largest of the huts.

“Keladry, you’re with me,” Steve said. “Robin, have the others set up a watch if there’s not one already. Where are Naerys and the others?”

“I sent Will to grab them,” Robin said. “The others are helping with the clean up, but I’ll see about a watch. I think the clan is already doing that though.”

“Keep them busy,” Steve said. “I don’t want any incidents between the men and the clan, with the bad blood between them.”

“Right,” Robin said. “I’ll keep an eye on things.”

“And Robin - good work today,” Steve said. “You’ve come a long way.”

Robin grinned, ducking his head. “Thanks, Steve.”

Steve glanced at Toby, but found him still firmly ensconced under his mother’s arm, and he decided to leave him to his fate. He and Keladry followed after Artos, ducking into what seemed to be a meeting place for the clan. It was a round hut, the remains of an old fire in the centre, and the roof had a circle cut out of it and raised, to allow smoke to escape and the early afternoon light to filter in. Logs circled the fire for seating, although it was only the four of them present at the moment, Kelda seated near the fire. Artos was kneeling by the firepit, feeding some kindling to it and blowing on it. After a moment, they began to catch, and he added more to it. Satisfied, he sat next to his mother.

“Sit by the fire,” Artos said, “we must share words.” It had the ring of ceremony.

Steve and Keladry joined them, armour clanking, and sat themselves down across the growing fire.

“You did not come to help me,” Artos said, considering his words, “but you have, and I must repay you. I offer you a prize that is mine by the blood I spilled today.” He glanced at his mother.

Kelda reached behind the log they sat on, and retrieved something wrapped in animal hide. She unwrapped it to reveal a slightly curved black object, about a metre long.

Keladry sucked in a breath. “That’s dragonbone,” she said.

Artos looked pleased. “It is. I offer it to you.”

“I accept, although we didn’t come here in hopes of reward,” Steve said.

“My mother spoke to me of the honour of knights,” Artos said, “though I believed her not.”

Steve inclined his head. “I’ve met good knights and bad. Some don’t deserve the title, some deserve it but don’t have it.”

Keladry shifted beside him.

“We have chieftains the same,” Artos said.

“Like that Tagart you sliced up?” Steve asked.

Artos glowered at the name. “He was the son of Timett, chief of the Burned Men.”

“It looked like you had a pretty personal disagreement with the man,” Steve said.

“It was Timett’s plan that saw my mother and her women taken away to the stronghold,” Artos said.

“They were to be hostages against you,” Keladry said. “Why?”

“He swallowed the Mountain Runners some moons back,” Artos said. He scratched at the burned socket of his eye. “His eyes were bigger than his belly.”

“The Mountain Runners were Toby’s clan,” Keladry said.

“The horse warg,” Artos said, nodding.

“Eleni’s boy is a warg?” Kelda said. She seemed pleased.

“The blonde woman is his mother?” Keladry asked Steve quietly, and he nodded. “Good,” she said. “Good.”

“I saw chance in Timett’s mistake,” Artos said, continuing his answer, “but whispers must have reached him. He sent his eldest son to take my mother.”

“You took a chance turning on him like that,” Steve said, non-judgemental.

“It was my mother,” Artos said. He shrugged. “If she disappeared into their stronghold, she never would come out, and her companions would suffer.”

“What now?” Steve asked. “You’re splitting off into the Green Falcons, but what about the Burned Men?”

“We hide, and hunt the Burned Men who come for us,” Artos said. “Many of my people are Mountain Runners, and some are like me who just hate Timett. I sent the others on doomed raids.”

“That’s likely what tipped Timett off,” Kelda said. “We should have moved slower.”

“Not when the warriors boast of taking you for wife,” Artos said.

“I survived your father,” Kelda said. “I would have survived them too.”

Artos spat into the fire, lip curling. “Not in my clan.”

“This stronghold,” Steve said. “You’re familiar with it? It’s location, access points?”

“Vale knights have tested themselves against it before,” Artos said. “They failed.”

“Steve is not just any knight,” Keladry said. “He defeated Bronze Yohn.”

Kelda peered at Keladry, the lines at her brow creasing.

“The Royce is fearsome,” Artos said, “but I cannot have lowlanders at my side for what I plan.”

Steve assessed the kid. He was barely in his mid-teens, but he had grown men respecting him and following his orders, and he seemed more than ready to throw down with the Burned Men. “This isn’t your only camp, is it.”

“I have five more,” Artos said. “I send word, and they will gut the Burned Men amongst them.”

“The other clans won’t respect you if you have ‘lowlanders’ fighting beside you,” Steve said. “And you need them to respect you.”

“Mother told me of the First Men of the North, how they are part of the kingdom,” Artos said. Ambition burned in his eye. “I will make it so no woman needs be stolen and raped, and no child goes hungry in the long winters. We have warred and raided for thousands of years, and we live in huts and scrounge in the dirt. No more.”

“That’s a worthy cause,” Steve said.

“Integrating the mountain clans with the Vale will be…difficult,” Keladry said, diplomatic.

“Much blood will spill,” Artos said. “But worth it, I think.”

“We haven’t been introduced,” Kelda said, staring at Keladry.

“Oh, sorry,” Steve said, kicking himself. “This is Keladry, my sworn sword.”

“Keladry,” Kelda said, considering. “Not Keladry Delnaimn, surely?”

Keladry froze for a moment. “Why would you ask that?”

“I had a Great Aunt I was very close to, Hellen,” Kelda said.

“My grandmother is Hellen Arryn, of Gulltown,” Keladry admitted.

“I had thought her Keladry was a granddaughter, not a grandson,” Kelda said.

Keladry looked to Steve, face smooth as stone.

Steve raised one shoulder minutely. It was her choice, in the end.

For the briefest of moments, a look of frustration crossed Keladry’s face, but then it was gone. “She is,” Keladry admitted. “I am.”

“When she wrote me of your birth, I joked that you were named for me,” Kelda said. She stared into the fire, wistful. “But that was impossible; your parents had you while they were off on their trade voyage to Yi Ti.” At Keladry’s look, she explained. “My name is Kelda.”

Keladry thought for a long moment, brow furrowed. “You are Kelda Waynwood? Grandmother spoke of you, I think. I was young.”

“I was on my way to marry some Bracken when the Burned Men took me,” Kelda said. “It was so long ago. I only had twenty years.”

“That is how I met Toby,” Keladry said. “I was on my way to wed a Burchard, when his clan attacked us.”

“You were not carried off then,” Kelda said. “The gods had better plans for you, I see.” She stared into the distance, unseeing.

Artos coughed. “As I said, the fight will be bloody, so I ask of you a favour.”

Kelda started, turning to narrow her eyes at her son. “You are not asking what I think you are.”

“I would have you take my mother and her maidens to the Eyrie,” Artos said, ignoring her.

“I will not go,” Kelda said.

“There is no room for those not of the clan, mother,” Artos said.

“After all my years here, you think I am not strong enough-”

“Are your maidens?” Artos asked, silencing her. “They are scarred, in their minds. To fight the Burned Men, we need to move as one.” He turned back to Steve. “Will you do me this favour?”

“I will,” Steve said, “if Kelda agrees to it.”

“How do you think the lowlanders will treat your maidens without you there?” Artos said immediately to his mother.

Kelda pressed her lips together. “I taught you too well. Very well. I will go.”

“We are not far from the Bloody Road,” Artos said. “You can follow it to the Eyrie.”

“You mean the High Road?” Keladry asked.

“It is the Bloody Road to us,” Artos said. “We move on the morn,” he said to Steve.

“So this is to be the last I see of my son for many moons,” Kelda said.

Artos hesitated. “I…I have to keep you safe.”

Kelda sagged into him. “I know, little wing. I know.”

Steve looked to Keladry, feeling slightly awkward, but she was distracted, thoughts clearly elsewhere. He let the moment stretch out, before speaking. “I will take my people tomorrow. You can have today for goodbyes, at least.”

Kelda looked to him, grateful.

“A feast we can afford, with the mouths we rid ourselves of today,” Artos said. “A feast we will have.” He rose, all five feet of him. “You have my thanks, Ser Rogers. For what you have done, and what you will do.”

Steve rose. “You do what’s right, not what is easy,” he said, “but I don’t think I need to tell you that, with your plans.” He offered his hand.

Artos accepted it, clasping it in the local way. “I have much to do. We will speak later.” He left, Kelda following after she gave them a grateful smile.

“To the Eyrie then,” Keladry said, voice quiet. She was still staring off, distracted.

“That won’t be a problem for you, will it?” Steve asked.

“I’ve never been, and those who would know me are too minor to have business there except on the rarest occasions,” Keladry said, “but…”

“But?” Steve prompted.

“The High Road is near to where I met Toby,” she said. “And Wyldon’s grave. It is a detour on the way to the Eyrie, but perhaps, we could visit?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “We can do that. How far of a detour is it?”

“A few days,” Keladry said. “My family’s lands are to the northwest of the Eyrie, over the mountains, but with you and Toby, the journey will not be dangerous.”

“I think it would be good for you,” Steve said. “I know you’re conflicted about how things went down there.”

“I thought about what you said,” Keladry said, looking up at him. “About writing a letter to Grandmother.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not sure. I know she has mourned me, but my actions would hurt my family if they were revealed.”

“Sounds like something you need to really think on,” Steve said. “But it also sounds like you already know what you want to do.”

Keladry set her jaw, not replying.

“Come on,” Steve said. “Let’s go find something to distract ourselves with.”

They left the hut behind, and almost knocked Toby over in the process.

“Kel,” Toby said, tone urgent. “You need to meet my Ma.”

Keladry was startled for a moment, before her usual stoic expression reasserted itself. “Are you not reacquainting yourself with her?”

“Yeah, but you really need to meet her,” Toby insisted.

“You want a distraction, don’t you,” Steve said.

Toby hesitated. “Mebbe.”

Keladry sighed, looking a moment from lecturing him.

“You don’t understand,” Toby said before she could start. “That old fart Walt is my granda, and she wants us to get along.” He began to tug at her arm, pulling her away.

For a moment, Keladry looked shocked. “Very well,” she said, a hint of a grin around her mouth. “I will save you from him.” She allowed herself to be pulled along.

“Yea-wait,” Toby said. “I don’t need no savin’, I just want…”

Steve shook his head at the pair as they departed, smiling to himself. Toby had a way of keeping things in perspective. As much as he’d like to see the boy suffer, he needed to check up on Naerys and Lyanna.

The camp wasn’t near large enough to make finding them a chore, and he tracked them down near one of the huts, standing just outside. Lyanna looked a bit on edge, watching the clansmen that passed nearby, and Naerys had her hand on the sword at her hip.

“Naerys, Lyanna,” Steve said. “All well?”

“Steve!” Lyanna said. “You’re ok?”

“Not a scratch,” Steve said. “You heard about how things went here?”

“Will told us,” Naerys said. She was looking him over, as if doubting his claim, but was satisfied soon enough. “I can’t believe the clan turned on itself like that.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Steve said. “I’ll tell you more about it tonight; we’ve come to an arrangement and we leave in the morning.”

“We’re staying here?” Lyanna asked.

“Just for tonight,” Steve said. He considered her for a moment. “You’re as safe here as you would be in the Red Keep.”

“You’ve only seen Steve fight when he ambushed the raiding party, haven’t you?” Naerys asked her. “No one can hurt you while you’re under his protection.”

Lyanna gave a shaky nod, somewhat reassured. “You hear a lot of stories, back in the Riverlands.”

“They might be true,” Steve said. “But Artos, the leader here, wants to change things. We were lucky to arrive when we did.”

“You make a habit of that, don’t you?” Naerys asked him.

“I’m just doing my best,” Steve said.

“Mmhmm,” Naerys said. Some of the levity fell from her face. “They’re looking after Jon inside. Hugo and Gerold are with him.”

Steve sighed. He hated this part. At least it wasn’t writing a letter home. “I’ll go speak with them,” he said.

“Steve,” Naerys said, stopping him. “Do you think I will ever join you in something like this?”

“In a skirmish, or a battle?” Steve asked.

Naerys nodded.

“If you wanted to, we could train you that way,” Steve said.

“I enjoy the training you’re giving me,” Naerys said, “and duelling the bravos was…exhilarating.”

“It’s not a decision you need to make in a hurry,” Steve said. “You don’t quite have the build to wear plate, but that’s not the only way to fight. Something to think on.”

“Right,” Naerys said.

“If you want to see Toby be mothered while scowling at his grandpa, he’s over that way with Keladry,” Steve said.

“His grandpa?” Naerys asked.

“Turns out his mother is Walt’s daughter,” Steve said.

“No,” Lyanna said, grinning widely.

“Yes,” Steve said. “He’s very conflicted about things.”

“Tell Hugo where we went,” Naerys said, as Lyanna started to march away, before turning to follow her when he nodded, waving over her shoulder.

Steve ducked inside the hut through some hanging hides, his eyes adjusting after a moment. There was a pallet on the floor, and on it lay Jon, sweat soaked and with a coarse bandage wrapped around his head, stained red.

“How is he?” Steve asked.

Hugo and Gerold startled at his voice, not having heard him approach.

“Not good,” Hugo said. He’d been wiping Jon’s forehead with a cloth. “They say if he survives the night he should recover, but….”

“There was a clan woman with him, but we sent her to get some water,” Gerold said. He was scowling. “I don’t trust her.”

Steve remembered his words from the night around the fire, only two days ago. “You don’t think well of the mountain clans.”

“They killed my sister when she wouldn’t let herself be taken,” the wiry man said.

“You’ve got reason then,” Steve said. “But was it these people who killed your sister?”

Gerold looked down, saying nothing.

“Hate and grief is normal,” Steve told him. “Just mind it doesn’t burn at you, or that you take it out on the undeserving.”

Hugo glanced at them out of the corner of his eye.

“She was going to get married last moon,” Gerold said.

“It doesn’t ever really go away,” Steve said, “but it does get easier to bear. I know I’m just that poncy noble that decided to lead you into the mountains, but if you sign on with me after this, I hope I can show you that I mean what I say.”

Hugo and Gerold exchanged a look. “Aye milord,” they answered.

“Let me have a look at Jon,” Steve said, moving on. He checked his temperature, and his pulse. Blood was seeping from the wound, but hardly flowing. “They judged it well,” Steve said, mouth pulling in a grimace. “I can’t do anything for him. If he doesn’t make it, he’ll slip away in his sleep.” It was small comfort, but at times like this you’d accept anything you could.

Hugo wiped more sweat from Jon’s face, as they looked on in silence. There was movement at the entrance, and a clan woman stepped inside carrying a pail.

“Water,” she said, offering it up, looking between the three men warily.

Gerold accepted it, and put it down for Hugo to dunk his cloth in. “Thanks,” he said, voice gruff.

The woman hesitated, but joined them by the recovery bed, offering Hugo a new cloth. He took it, handing over the old one.

Steve ghosted away, leaving them to it. He offered up a quick prayer for Jon. He didn’t want to lose his first soldier here so soon.

An enormous bonfire was built that night, and the food stores broken open. The wounded were given pride of place, and families gathered together, all of them free with emotion. There was an outpouring of care on display that made Steve think it was something new for them, that it had been looked down on before Artos had openly assumed control. Whatever the cause, the night was filled with cheer.

Steve spent his night pretending obliviousness to the not-so-subtle invitations from many of the clan women, after word had spread of his prowess from those who witnessed it. When they became too blunt, Naerys came to protect him, fighting back laughter. What she did to dissuade them, he didn’t know, but he was grateful for the respite nonetheless. He was less grateful when she repeated the last invitation, word for word, mischief clear in her eyes. His misstep back at Riverrun was coming back to haunt him, but as Naerys laughed at him, he found he didn’t really mind.

All ate their fill, celebrating their victory and taking comfort in each other. The moon shone down above them, and for that night at least, life was sweet.

X x X

Keladry trembled with unbridled rage at the sight before her. They stood on a picturesque bluff, looking over a valley. Steve and Toby stood behind her, the others further back, as she clenched and unclenched her fists.

“They dare,” she said. “They dare.”

Before her was a disturbed cairn, roughly investigated and carelessly left. A torso had been revealed, once shining armour stained by the weather and its head made a feast for passing animals.

“No animal did this,” Keladry said. “This was done by human hands.”

Steve didn’t question her on it. “Mountain clan?”

“Clans don’t disturb no graves,” Toby said. “Gods don’t like it.”

“Not thieves if they left the armour,” Steve said. “Someone wanted to know who was buried here.” He glanced at Keladry. “The Burchards would have known the route you were taking to them. Think they investigated when you didn’t arrive?”

“It’s not fresh, but it ain’t a year old, either,” Toby said.

Keladry scrubbed at her face, and her hand came away wet. “When I find these people-” she cut herself off. “I will have satisfaction.”

“Stoneford couldn’t have done this?” Steve asked.

“Not unless House Burchard gave him the knowledge,” Keladry said. “That pissant son of a landed kni-” she cut herself off again, nails digging into her palms.

“Walt,” Steve called over his shoulder. The old soldier had kept the others back when he’d seen Keladry’s face upon sighting the grave, and now he jogged up to join them.

“Ser,” Walt said.

“You said you’ve got experience with tracking,” Steve said.

“Not in this land, but aye,” Walt said.

“There’s an old skirmish site nearby, Toby can guide you there,” Steve said. “I want you to take a look at it and see what you can see.”

“As you say,” Walt said. “Come on, grandson.” He said the word like it was almost an insult.

“Sure, granda,” Toby answered in much the same tone. They hurried off, holding off from squabbling only in respect for Keladry. Dodger trotted along behind them.

“Take your time,” Steve said quietly to his friend. “When you’re ready, we’ll fix this.”

Keladry gave no answer.

Steve turned for the others to give her space. Their wagon and more bulky belongings were still back at Walt’s nameless village, but Artos had given them a cart that had come into their possession, and Jon lay upon it. The hook nosed man had lived through that first night, but he was still weak and prone to tremors, though he was improving.

“How are you today Jon?” Steve asked.

“Better, milord,” Jon said. “Only got the shakes once, but that might’ve been the road.”

“That’s the spirit,” Steve said. He turned to the women they had rescued. They were mounted, most on the shaggy horses they had seized from the raiding party, except Eleni, who always chose to ride with Toby despite the option of a horse of her own. “Ladies,” he said. “How do we fare?”

“Well, Ser Steve,” Kelda said, speaking for them. She often spoke for her group, as they were still very reserved around others, save for Eleni. “Is Keladry well?”

“She will be,” Steve said. “We’ll be here for a short while, so you may as well get comfortable.”

“Thank you, Ser,” Kelda said.

“If you need anything, just ask,” Steve said. He gave Naerys a look where she was watching over Robin and Lyanna nearby, and she shook her head. He moved on.

The men had spread out when they arrived at Walt’s direction, taking up a loose watch, and he approached Humfrey. The man had continued to distinguish himself amongst his fellows, and had emerged as a clear leader.

“Ser,” Humfrey said as he neared. “Are we expecting trouble?”

“No,” Steve said. “But act as if you do. Best not to form bad habits.”

“Yes Ser,” Humfrey said. He ran a hand over the stubble starting to grow back on his head.

They spoke for a short time, before Steve moved on to the next man, keeping an eye on Keladry. He tried to make a point of speaking with them all a little each day, but in time, Keladry seemed to get herself under control again. He clapped Will on the shoulder, and returned to her.

“Kel?” Steve asked.

“No,” Keladry said, answering the unspoken question. “But I will be, once the ones who did this answer for it.”

Steve nodded. It was as much as could be expected. “Come on. Let’s set Wyldon to rights.”

Without speaking, they took the stones that had been disturbed and began to pile them up again. They covered his face first, Keladry’s mask almost cracking as they looked upon him.

“Remember him as he was when he butchered the knight that threatened you and Toby,” Steve said.

Keladry made a noise of agreement, squaring her shoulders. Partway through, Kelda and her ladies began to bring them more rocks, placing them nearby for them to use.

“Thank you Kelda,” Keladry said. “Larra, Alannys, Darna, Eleni.”

They shook their heads, but stayed quiet, respectful. They piled the rocks higher this time, more than an exhausted young woman and boy could manage on their own. Keladry placed the last, bowing her head over the grave of the man who had taught her how to fight, and they gave her space.

Walt and Toby returned as Keladry finished, and the older man shook his head. “Animals have been at the bodies,” he said to Steve. “Not a hope of puzzling any details out, but-”

“That knight fucker is gone,” Toby said. “The one her Wyldon gutted. Armour and all.”

“House Burchard then,” Steve said, a grim set to his mouth.

“More likely than not,” Walt said. “We going to give it to them?”

“We continue to the Eyrie,” Keladry said, rising from where she knelt. “We need to see Lady Kelda and her ladies to safety.”

Steve gave her a long look, and she stared him down. “As Keladry said, then,” he said. “To the Eyrie.”

The party began to saddle up or prepare for marching once more, leaving the cairn behind. They might have returned the dead to rest, but someone had disturbed him to begin with, and Steve had a feeling they hadn’t nearly heard the last of it.

X x X

In the end, they did not make it to the high seat of House Arryn, the Eyrie. Their journey came to an end at the stronghold that lay at the base of the tallest mountain of the Vale, as the afternoon sun shone down on them, though it would soon fall below the mountains.

“The Gates of the Moon,” Kelda said, as they lay eyes upon it. “We’re almost there,” she said, unable to keep the giddiness from her tone.

The Gates were an almost squat castle, clearly built for strength over beauty, and far up above, on the peak of the mountain, a gleaming white castle could faintly be seen.

“Looks like someone has kicked over an ants nest,” Steve said. There was a great deal of activity about the castle, and many tents had been erected outside.

“No more Blackfyres have emerged since I’ve been away, have they?” Kelda asked.

“No,” Keladry said. “Not unless they’ve appeared in the last month or so since we left Riverrun.”

“One way to find out,” Steve said. He was grateful that he and Kel had kept to wearing their plate armour as a precaution. “Keladry, you’re with me up front. Walt, organise the men around the cart, watch the rear and sides. Robin, you’re on the cart with your bow. Everyone else, keep to the centre.”

They continued on, and as another road from the east joined with the one they followed, it was clear that a lot of traffic had marched this way recently. As they neared the tents around the castle, a party of knights rode out to meet them, armed and armoured. Steve and his company slowed to a stop, allowing them to come to them.

“Identify yourselves!” the lead knight shouted. He had a shield of green snakes on black.

Steve waved Kelda forward. This was her party.

“I am Lady Kelda Waynwood,” Kelda called. “I seek an audience with my uncle, Lord Jon Arryn!”

The knight lifted his visor, revealing a frown as he stared at Kelda, before his brows rose in shock. “That is - quite the claim,” he said. At his back, his fellows exchanged murmurs.

“I have quite the tale,” Kelda said. “I am escorted by Lord America.”

The knights looked wary now, taking in the shield on his arm and the star on his chest. “Lord America is known to us,” the leader said. “I am Ser Lynderly. We will escort you to the Gates, where your persons can be verified.”

“Thank you, Ser,” Kelda said. “We appreciate your protection.” She spoke her courtesies haltingly, shaking off the rust.

They rode onwards, passing through the ordered tents before the castle, and Steve looked around, taking everything in. Men-at-arms and knights were everywhere. This was an army, preparing for war. He shared a glance with Keladry, and she nodded grimly. She saw it too.

Across an open drawbridge they cantered, drawing curious eyes as they went. Below them was a moat, its waters still, but they saw it only briefly as they passed through the stout walls and entered the central courtyard. Word had apparently been passed, for servants and guards were gathering to meet them, and Lynderly gave a quick gesture. The guards fell back, allowing the servants to take the lead.

Toby looked ready to argue as one tried to take Quicksilver’s reins, but Keladry caught his eyes and shook her head, and he held his tongue, mutinous look on his face. He dismounted with Eleni, leaning back into her.

A door was kicked open nearby, drawing many eyes, and a familiar man stormed through. He wore anger about him like an old companion, and he bared his teeth when he saw Steve in what was supposed to be a grin.

“Steve Rogers!” Brandon Stark called. “They say a true friend appears when your need is great, but I hadn’t thought the saying to be truth.” He strode over, offering his arm.

“Brandon,” Steve said. He clasped the offered arm. “It looks like we’ve arrived at an exciting time. What happened?”

“That inbred Valyrian fuck took my sister, that’s what happened. I mean to get her back.”

“The Prince abducted Lyanna?” Steve asked.

“No,” Brandon said, almost snarling. “Aerys.”

Steve stared at him for a long moment. “You have my shield.”

Brandon grinned savagely. “Bread and salt!” he shouted. “Bread and salt, for a boon ally of the Starks!”

Servants hurried to oblige the shouting Northman, and Steve met Naerys’ gaze through the sudden chaos. It seemed things were about to get a lot more complicated.