Sunlight filtered through the trees of the Kingswood, the sound of men talking and joking with one another startling birds and deer alike as they marched. Apparently they neared the northern edge of the Kingswood, and from there it was but a few days to the capital.

As they rode for King’s Landing at an easy pace, Steve reflected on the last week. The contacts he had made would help him regain his shield without a fight, he hoped, and he could appreciate the friendship starting to build between himself and Barristan. The time spent aiding in the destruction of the Brotherhood wasn’t completely without gain either. Their camp had been raided, and their ill gotten gains seized. Much of it was coin gained through ransoming nobles, although there were also goods that had been stolen from merchants. Rather than wait for the goods to be sold, Dayne had offered him a lump sum from the coin, which Steve had happily accepted.

From the way Naerys’ eyes had bulged when she had seen it, he figured 100 gold dragons was a respectable amount. On top of the coin, the armour of the Smiling Knight was also declared to be his, as were the bows of Fletcher Dick and Wenda the White Fawn. He could decide whether to keep or sell them later, because the armour certainly didn’t fit him. He was considering having another crack at the bows though. With the shape his shield was in, he didn’t have an easy way of picking off enemies at a distance.

Naerys had also passed on what she had learned from the servants and men at arms, telling Steve of things like the Street of Steel, which parts of the city to avoid, whose brother’s wife’s father could give them a good deal on basic goods, and other such like. It wasn’t information that was hard to come by, but it was invaluable for someone approaching the city blind.

When given the chance, Steve found himself spending time talking with Barristan, who had told him to use his first name and taken to discussing the state of the Kingdoms with him, telling him of rivalries current and past, friendly and less so. His tales of slaying Maelys the Monstrous, and sneaking into a tournament at the tender age of ten were answered with Steve’s fight against the Red Skull, and of trying (and failing) to lie his way past army recruiters. They even roped Dayne into it once, who told of the time he had been caught trying to lift his famous sword Dawn before he had any right to it.

On the days they stopped and made camp before night fell, Steve took advantage of the afternoon light to practise with the bows he had claimed from the Brotherhood. Of the two, Fletcher Dick’s bow served him best, and over the course of the week, he had taught himself the basics of using it. He wouldn’t be taking an apple off anyone’s head, let alone any of the nonsense Clint had been able to pull, but if he had to take out a still target, he wouldn’t miss the first two shots again.

Of an evening, Steve had taken to showing Naerys the basics of how to defend herself. In most cases it was truly the basics - how to stand, how to breathe, how to fall - but found she had already been taught how to throw a punch.

“Garret showed me how,” Naerys told him as they took a break a few nights into the lessons. “One of the butcher’s boys got a bit handsy, and he gave me a few lessons.”

“Well, it’s a solid punch,” Steve said. “Straightforward. But you don’t want to get into a slugfest with a man in armour.”

“And how would she fight a man in armour, Steve?” Jaime Lannister interjected from where he watched nearby, lounging across the back of a cart. He had taken to using Steve’s given name at every opportunity, while insisting Steve do the same in return. Steve had a feeling someone was having a joke played on them, but he couldn’t quite figure out who.

“At range, with a crossbow,” Steve said dryly. “But if that isn’t an option, like this.” He gestured towards the soldier, brother to a man whose life Steve had likely saved after the battle, who was helping him demonstrate. “Attack me.”

The long suffering soldier ran at him, already swinging, but Steve seemed to brush him aside and tumble him over his hip with little effort. The man fell onto the hard packed dirt with a thump.

“You right there?” Steve asked.

“Aye, Captain Steve,” he groaned.

“Did you see what I did?” Steve asked Naerys.

“I think so?” she asked. “It was much too fast to see properly.”

“That’s why we’ll be running you through it at a slow pace,” Steve said. “It’s from a type of fighting that focuses on using your enemy’s movement and momentum against them. One of my comrades taught me how to do it.”

“This comrade, was he a bare handed fighter?” Jaime asked, looking slightly interested.

Steve grinned. “She could have killed every single person in the camp if she had to.”

“Really,” Jaime said, drawing it out.

“She was a champion, same as I was,” Steve said. His conversation with Barristan had done the rounds, and it was now well known that he was part of a team of champions responsible for defending his home against the champions of other kingdoms. “We could both do a lot that the other couldn’t, but if she was my enemy, I’d be worried.” He looked Jaime over, inspecting him. The boy watched his training sessions with Naerys more often than not.

“Do you want to join us?” Steve asked. The kid looked interested, and he already had martial training, but Steve figured he could teach him a few new tricks.

“What did you have in mind?” Jaime asked, somewhat guardedly.

“Some unarmed blocks, a hold, a way to break the arm of a man in armour if you’ve been disarmed,” Steve said. In the days after Siberia, he’d thought up all manner of ways he could stand against the Iron Man armour when he feared he might have to fight Tony again, but they should work well enough on a man in medieval armour too. “I know you’ve got your own training, and I don’t know much about swinging a sword, but I figure it can’t hurt you to learn.”

Slowly, Jaime Lannister nodded, swinging his legs off the cart and stepping forward to join Naerys before him. “I would appreciate that,” he said.

From his tone, you’d think Steve was offering something more than a few grappling lessons. He shook off the thought and started the lesson. “Now, this move will depend on if you’ve still got your shield or not, and…”

Riding ahorse was something of an experience too, and a welcome change from jogging alongside one as he had most of the way from Sharp Point. Barristan had given him advice and guidance when he saw just how unused Steve was to riding. While not the fastest way of getting around he’d encountered, Steve had to admit there was some enjoyment to be found in the novelty of it all, and even came to enjoy taking care of the borrowed horse of an evening.

X

Finally, the day came when the great city of King’s Landing could be seen in the distance, a sprawling city on the edge of the water. Steve could spy great structures within it even at a distance, and while it didn’t hold a candle to New York, it was still something to behold. Then, the wind shifted, and the smell hit.

Steve snorted and shook his head like a horse, trying to get the stench from his nose. “Good God. That’s awful.”

“You can smell the city already?” Jaime asked at his side, eyebrow raised as he took in the distance still to go.

“Just a whiff on the wind,” Steve said. “I wasn’t expecting that at all.”

“It will only get worse,” Barristan called back over his shoulder. “But you do get used to it.”

Steve pulled a face. It wasn’t as bad as some battlefields he’d crossed, but then he hadn’t had to sleep amongst any of those either. “With luck I won’t have to for long.”

The distance to the city dwindled quickly as they passed peasants and merchants on their wagons as they headed to or from King’s Landing. A river ran between them and the city, a natural barrier to those approaching from the south. There were piers and docks on the river and a great gate in the wall, and a ferry provided passage to the other side.

Soon the city loomed over them as they came to a stop at the river and a ferry that was already half full was rapidly emptied for their use. The Kingsguard led their soldiers aboard, banners flying proudly in the breeze. Some of those going about their business stopped to gawk, pointing at one of the knights or at Steve in his foreign armour. Some pointed at Ulmer, clearly a captive as he was slung over the back of a horse like a bag of potatoes with his hands bound.

“What do you think, Naerys?” Steve asked his companion as she guided her horse alongside his own.

“I think it stinks,” Naerys said, looking up at the city walls. She sat sidesaddle and wore a dress, rather than the trousers she had worn through their travels. She pointed at the red coloured keep that sat atop a hill off to the east. “The Red Keep, seat of power of House Targaryen. I read about it, but the books don’t really do it justice.”

Steve eyed it critically. It was no Avengers Tower. “I suppose it’s something alright.”

The river was crossed quickly and they disembarked the ferry, soldiers forming up into an honour guard. Dayne and Barristan took the lead, Jaime and Crakehall behind them. The old man wouldn’t be galloping anywhere any time soon, but he could sit ahorse well enough for now. Steve and Naerys fell in behind them, much as he’d rather avoid the pageantry. He could already see urchins running ahead to spread word of the likely spectacle to come.

They were stopped briefly at the gate, not to be challenged, but for Dayne to inform whoever was in charge of their success and for word to be sent ahead of them. Then, they were through the gate, and the city swallowed them up.

King’s Landing had nothing in common with any city Steve had seen before, even the old European cities he and the Commandos had visited during the war. They crossed a market square of some sort, before heading down what seemed to be the main street, heading north. Their view of the Red Keep was quickly blocked by the building that rose up on either side. It seems that when all the space within the walls had been taken up, rather than expand the walls, people had simply built up. It wasn’t pretty, and it wasn’t safe, but he supposed people had to make do in a world like this.

As they rode - paraded, really - more and more people flocked to watch them pass. Dayne and Barristan were the focus of much adulation, and for a moment a strange feeling came over Steve, as if something was slightly askew. Then he realised it was because the crowds were almost ignoring him in favour of the more renowned knights, and he laughed to himself. Naerys gave him a questioning look, and he shook his head. The kinds of things you got used to...

As the crowds grew, so did their bravery. Two boys scampered almost alongside their horses, sticks serving as swords as they attempted to thrash one another, and a young girl darted out to present a flower to Dayne, smiling prettily. The knight accepted the flower and ruffled her hair, and it was only Steve’s sharp gaze that saw him press a coin into her hands with a wink.

Not all the attention was good, however. As the crowds caught sight of Ulmer, hands bound and trailing behind the horses, prodded on by a pair of soldiers with spears, their cheers turned ugly. The first bit of garbage thrown hit the captured bandit in the chest with a splat, leaving a filthy mark on the already filthy clothes, and jeers followed. Looking back over his shoulder, Steve frowned.

Deliberately, Steve slowed until his horse was closer to Ulmer, providing some scant protection from the more physical taunts of the onlookers. Several booed, but Steve met their eyes fearlessly, and they looked down and away, slinking back into the crowd. It would have been easy to leave the bandit to their mercies, and the man had surely earned more than to simply be the target of curses and filth, but he was also Steve’s responsibility. Leaving him to be attacked said more about Steve than it did about him.

Jaime cast a curious eye behind himself, eyebrow quirked at Steve’s actions, but the soldier just gave him a nod, and continued on close enough to deter any future throwers. Naerys slowed down to join him, an indecipherable emotion in her eyes, but said nothing.

As they left the market surrounds behind them, the buildings became less tall and twisting, and more planned, bearing fresher colours, some even having guards standing at their front. They must be moving towards the richer part of the city, Steve realised, and away from where those less fortunate lived. Here and there he could see black flags with a red, three headed dragon upon it standing proud, but many were faded by the sun, and some were even tattered from exposure.

“That’s the Great Sept of Baelor,” Naerys said, nodding towards the west, where a gleaming white edifice could be seen rising up above the city. “The greatest in all the Kingdoms.”

Steve cast an eye towards the structure. Even at a distance, he could tell it was something. Maybe even greater than St Peter’s, although he’d have to see it up close to be sure. He wondered if Westeros had had their own Michelangelo to add to it.

Soon they reached the end of the road they had followed since the River Gate, and they made a sharp right turn onto a broad boulevard. The Red Keep loomed at its end, beckoning them towards their final destination. The road was clearer, the buildings better constructed, and there were even trees lining their path. The people watching them were still commoners, but here and there was a merchant or tradesman, even what Steve guessed to be a minor noble with a guard.

The general miasma of the city somehow got worse as they passed the clamouring crowds. “I didn’t think it could get worse, but it did,” Steve said, doing his best to avoid screwing his face up in disgust. Sometimes enhanced senses were no boon.

“Flea Bottom,” Naerys explained with distaste. “It’s an enormous slum. My father once said that they cook their own dead in enormous bowls of brown just to feed themselves.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. That had to be an exaggeration, but it didn’t say good things about a city that had such a slum at all.

Despite the slum squatting off to the north like a troll beneath a bridge, they were very much in the richer part of the city now. Manses and fancy shops lined the boulevard, the crowd became more well-heeled, and some began to point and stare at Steve just as much as those ahead of him, eyes drawn by his strange armour and imposing frame. Even Naerys drew some looks, as one who could have been a Targaryen or a Velaryon save for the quality of her dress.

Then the Red Keep was upon them. It was a towering structure of red stone, weathered by the ages but standing with a palpable sense of strength and dominion. They passed through its gates, bronze portcullis raised above them, and the Keep swallowed them up. The noise of the spectators to their arrival fell away, replaced by the chatter of a courtyard as a number of knights called out to and saluted Dayne, Barristan, and Crakehall. The flags and banners of the Royal House were in much better condition here, with not a tattered corner to be seen

A servant in Targaryen colours approached, exchanging quick words with Dayne and Barristan before ducking away. Those ahorse dismounted, and gathered round Dayne when he gestured for them to join him.

“His Grace awaits us in the throne room,” Dayne said. “We are to be lauded before the court. Captain Rogers, I think it would be best if Lady Waters was to oversee your belongings to a room that is being prepared for you.”

Steve glanced to Naerys, frowning at the way she was almost being swept aside, but found her nodding with a look of slight relief.

“If you think that would be best, Ser,” Naerys said. She slipped away from the group, making for the baggage cart where the best part of Steve’s loot was being kept.

“The King is aware of your deeds, Captain, but has also had word from Captain Bar Emmon,” Dayne said to Steve. “I am confident your deeds will stand you in good stead, however.”

“I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of,” Steve said.

“Of course,” Dayne said. He exchanged a glance with Barristan, and then let out a slow breath, readying himself. “You and you,” he said to the men standing by Ulmer with spears. “You’ll be escorting the prisoner through the audience. Leave your spears and daggers with your comrades.” He gave a harsh look to the bandit archer. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your tongue inside your head unless you’re asked a direct question. Do you understand?”

“But of course Ser,” Ulmer said, affecting a mocking curtsey. His manner had earned him more than a few cuffs about the ear on their journey to the city, the man unable to keep from sharpening his tongue on his captors. “When am I not on my best behaviour?”

Despite his glibness however, Steve could see the man was pale, and keeping a tight grip on his fear. Barristan kept a weather eye on the man, but seemed satisfied, and Dayne’s attention had already moved on.

“Captain Crakehall, your wound?” the knight asked.

“Well enough for this,” Crakehall said, standing stiffly. Under his armour, his shoulder was a mass of bandages, and whatever weight could be shed had been. Appearances were apparently more important, however.

“Good. Let us not keep His Grace waiting then,” Dayne said, before turning and leading the way deeper into the Keep. Barristan and Crakehall fell in behind him, while Jaime and Steve followed behind them.

Servants cleared out of their path as they left the courtyard and made their way through the Keep, until they came to a heavy set of double doors with a guard on either side, again in black and red. A man in fine silks waited before them, taking in their party and their sigils. His gaze stopped when it came to Steve.

“And you are, Ser?” the man asked, pencil thin moustache twitching.

Steve paused for a moment, unsure of how to present himself. “Captain America, of the United Kingdoms of America,” he said to the man who must be the court herald. He still hadn’t found out the word for ‘state’.

The herald’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked to Barristan for confirmation.

“Captain Steven America,” Barristan said.

Settled, the herald turned to the guards and jerked his head at the door. On que, the two men shouldered the heavy doors apart for the herald to stride through and step to the side.

“For the pleasure of His Grace, King Aerys Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I present to His court Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning,” the herald boomed, voice out of place from the man it issued from. “Ser Barristan Selmy, the Bold, Captain Sumner Crakehall of House Crakehall, Ser Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock, and Captain Steven America of the United Kingdoms of America.”

Arthur stepped into the throne room as his name was announced, each man waiting only so long for their own to follow to join him. When Steve’s name was called, the quiet words of the courtiers and nobles filling out the throne room became a brief murmur, before stilling. Along a red carpet trimmed with black they walked, approaching the far end of the hall. The hall was a grand thing, with light pouring through high windows that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a grand cathedral. Tony would have loved it, but Pepper would have thought it tragically ostentatious. At its end was a monstrosity of a monument, an enormous hulk of jagged metal and twisted blades hammered into the rough shape of a throne. Many looked to be half melted.

Perched within the monstrosity, looking almost an afterthought next to the grandeur of the room and the throne, was the man who could only be King Aerys, ruler of Westeros and the man who had Steve’s shield.

The hall, long as it was, gave Steve little enough time to take it all in. The finely dressed men and women watching them walk were a mess of contradictions, seeming to be both little more than set dressing to Steve’s gut instinct, but also jackals feuding amongst themselves for food. They stood in such a way as if to appear united under their King, but he could also see the cliques and factions amongst them.

Then they were at the steps leading up to the King, and Dayne dropped to his knee, Barristan and the others following suit. Even Ulmer dropped without prodding, his guards doing the same. Steve gave a bow, keeping his eye on the man atop the throne. A wry thought crossed his mind. Can’t have Captain America kneeling to a King, could we? And a bow was only polite.

Several courtiers stirred at his action, but none speak, and the King continues to look down upon them with a considering smile. Close as they were, Steve couldn’t help but pick out details on the man. His hair, long and untrimmed, his fingernails likewise. He was pale, and Steve could make out one leg tensing and untensing rapidly. If the man wasn’t on his throne before his court Steve was sure the leg would be bouncing.

“My loyal subjects,” Aerys greeted them. “You have returned victorious, having done me and my kingdom a great service. Rise!”

The men with him rose to their feet, and Steve released the bow he was holding.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Dayne said, projecting his voice for the hall. “We are pleased to have carried out your orders.”

Aerys waved the knight’s words away. “Of course. And you must tell us the tale, so all the Realms might hear of it, but first, you must tell us of our guest. Unless my memory fails, I sent three knights to burn the scourge from my lands, not five.” He smiled, inviting his nobles to share in his joke, but his eyes lingered on the star that stood proud upon Steve’s chest.

“So you did, Your Grace,” Dayne said. “The Captain America may have the qualities of a knight, but his lands lack such an institution. He is a champion of his people, and leader of champions greater still by right of birth.”

Steve’s pleasant expression remained on his face, but inside was confusion and some small amount of suspicion. He had a feeling something had gone over his head somewhere. He was sure he had never mentioned anything about any birth right.

“Captain America of America, you say?” Aerys asked, eyes alight with something foreign. “Surely then you would be King, rather than merely Captain?”

Now wait just a damned second.

“My land decides its king by holding a vote on whose vision for the country is best,” Steve said slowly, attempting to explain the modern American political system to an absolute monarch who had yet to discover gunpowder. “I was merely elevated as the one to represen--”

“Ah, like the Volantenes,” Aerys interrupted him.

“I could not say, Your Majesty,” Steve said. “I have been learning your language for only a very short time. I would hope I am not giving you a false impression of my homeland. I do not hold my position due to any birth right.”

“‘Your Majesty’,” Aerys said, amused. “Is this how your leaders are referred to?”

There was some tittering from the audience.

Steve was struck by the image of the President with a crown and staff. “No, not at all. But there are other lands that still have Kings and Queens, and that is how they are referred to in my language.”

“‘Your Majesty’,” Aerys repeated to himself. “I shall have to remember that one…” he said, before seeming to snap back to himself. “But now we must hear of the end of the Kingswood Brotherhood at the swords of my valiant servants.”

“As you say, Your Grace,” Dayne said with a slight bow. “I am no storyteller, but…”

Ser Dayne launched into a retelling of their hunt for the Brotherhood, starting with their march to the Kingswood only to find that the smallfolk living there had been beguiled by the lies of the outlaws, and of how he and his men had moved to prove them false, and to show the villagers that their trust in their King had never been misplaced.

Steve listened with one ear, paying more attention to the court. He had never taken Dayne for a man to embellish, but now the man spoke in such a way that made him wary. Nat would have picked apart his motivations at a glance, but Steve had to work through things. The tale he presented was one painting the King in a very good light - was he doing so due to propaganda, to put on a show for the court? Did the King demand public reports in this way, or was he so mercurial as to need this type of careful handling? Until he was sure, Steve would have to tread carefully. His gut told him the court wasn’t a great place to be.

The final clash with the Brotherhood made more mention of great duels between noble names rather than of soldiers scrabbling in the dirt over a single dagger. Ser Jaime fighting next to Ser Barristan to defend the treacherously wounded Captain Crakehall as they held off the Smiling Knight and his men, Ser Dayne fighting Toyne and Big Belly Ben alone, even Steve’s keen eye in spotting the ambush and putting a stop to every cowardly scheme the Brotherhood pulled in an attempt to even the scales. Here and there were references to the King’s wisdom in sending them out to deal with the threat, and with every one Steve’s gut feeling only grew surer. When Dayne told of the Smiling Knight’s end, of how Captain America had slain him barehanded with a single punch, there was an audible gasp from the crowd, but then the tale moved on to the end, of how Barristan the Bold and Captain America turned an unfair fight into a proper duel, and of how Treacherous Toyne lost his head a heartbeat afterwards.

No mention was made of digging around in a man’s guts to make sure no arrow splinters were left in there, or of how a soldier died an entirely preventable death because Steve was the only one with anything approaching medical skills at the battle and had to make a decision on who to treat.

As the tale wound to a close, the King clasped his hands together, almost beaming at his knights. “I expected nothing less of my Kingsguard and those who fought beside them,” he proclaimed. Truly, on this day you have all done me a service.”

“It is only right, Your Grace,” Dayne said.

The King’s gaze moved on, fixed on the prisoner behind them with unnerving stillness. “And who is this?” he asked. His fingernails began to beat a rhythm on his throne.

“Ulmer of the Kingswood, Your Grace,” Dayne said.

“And what fate have the gods chosen for you, I wonder,” Aerys said, voice dropping ever lower. He seemed to have forgotten the crowd he had been playing for earlier.

Dayne glanced at Barristan.

“If it pleases Your Grace, he has volunteered to take the black,” Barristan said.

The image of a genial king dropped for a moment and was back up in a flash, but Steve saw it, and he saw several courtiers pointedly avoid seeing it.

“By the laws of the realm, that is his right,” Aerys said evenly. “To the Black Cells with him. I will not have him sully my court with his presence.” He watched as Ulmer was pulled to his feet and marched out of the throne room, face blank. As the doors closed behind him, however, his smile reappeared and his attention returned to his knights. “But I was speaking of the service you have done for me! Have you any requests of your King?”

For a moment, Steve considered waiting, letting Dayne and the others voice the polite demurrals or delays in choice that he could already see them deciding to make. But he had waited long enough. He stepped forward, breaking whatever protocol he was sure they had to make his request. The court stilled as he spoke.

“Your Grace,” Steve began. “I arrived on the shores of Westeros several weeks ago injured and unconscious. I had with me only my armour, which I wear now, and my weapon, a shield crafted from the rarest of metals bearing my colours and my symbol.” Here he paused a moment, as it seemed his words had stirred something amongst his audience. “I am foreign to these shores and its traditions, so I would ask for your assistance in regaining my shield.”

Aerys seemed to ponder his words for a long moment, weighing up points only he could know on a scale only he could see. “It so happens that I have recently come into possession of a shield much like the one you describe through a vassal of mine,” he said slowly. “On its heels came a warning to beware of a man who looks much like you.”

Steve set his jaw, but said nothing.

“Your actions in aiding my men against the Kingswood Brotherhood have shown you can be a man of virtue,” Aerys continued. “However...as King, I have a responsibility to those sworn to me. Tell me honestly, as Captain of America to King of Westeros, why I should return your shield to you?”

“Because it was taken from me as I lay wounded from battle. Taken as payment for aid that he did not even give himself,” Steve said. “Because I have seen today that you do not allow injustice to go unremarked in your kingdom. Because you seem to be a just man, and a just King,” he said, the lie flowing easily over his tongue. “Because it is the right thing to do.”

For a long moment, nobody spoke. Then the King nodded once, gravely. “I did not make myself King,” he said, speaking to his court now. “The Gods did. To be King is a great responsibility, a task that few men might rise to,” he continued, warming to his subject. “But there are days like this, where it is not only Right to do my duty, but Good.” He snapped his fingers, and a page approached him. He gave a few quiet orders, and the page hurried from the hall.

“Tell me, Captain America, does this shield of yours have a name?”

Steve shook his head. “It never needed one. It’s just...my shield.”

“A weapon made by the warrior then,” Aerys said. He leaned back in his throne. “And you, my knights? Have you thought of a boon you would have from your Just King?”

“We would have to think deeply on such a gift, Your Grace,” Dayne spoke for the group. They bowed their heads in respect, although Steve could see a gleam in Jaime’s eye that came when he had some bit of cheek to dispense. On this occasion, however, the kid kept silent.

“Of course, of course,” Aerys said. Then his eye caught on Jaime, and maybe he saw the same thing Steve did. “But what of you, Ser Lannister? No requests on behalf of certain family members?”

“I would not presume to speak for them, Your Grace,” Jaime said, head still bowed.

“Hmm.”

A door opened at the side of a hall, and through it the page returned, carrying an object covered by cloth. The boy presented it to the King, and then stepped quickly back to his post.

“I present to you, Captain America,” Aerys said, grasping the covering cloth. “Your shield.” And he swept it clear, revealing his shield, split and damaged, bearing the scars inflicted upon it by the Mad Titan Thanos.

Steve let out a breath. It was broken, true. It had faltered when he needed it most, yes.

But it had stayed with him when he got back up. Had shed the blood of his enemies, deadly even when fractured, and now it was here in this strange world with him, one point of familiarity in a sea of strangeness.

“Thank you,” Steve said. He stepped forward to approach the throne to take it, but the page quickly moved to carry it to him, taking it off the King’s hands.

He took it from the boy, finding the leather straps just as he remembered, and slipped it onto his arm, a comforting weight that said whatever challenge he faced, it would be overcome.

“This is an occasion worth of celebration,” Aerys said, clapping his hands and rising to his feet. “A feast! A feast for my valiant knights and our new friends! I hope you will join us, Captain America,” he said, leaving little room for anything but acceptance. He swept down from his throne, courtiers flocking to his side as he strode from the hall. A pair of knights, clad in the same armour as Dayne and Barristan and wearing white cloaks, emerged from the crowd to fall in behind him, and then Steve was alone with the knights.

“Now that that’s all over,” Crakehall grumbled. “Get me to the Maester, lad,” he said to Jaime, as he began to walk stiffly from the hall.

Barristan gave a disapproving look to the Captain, but let him leave without comment. “Your first exposure to the pageantry of court,” he said to Steve. “How did you find it?”

“It was certainly something,” Steve said. “But it could have gone worse.”

“Aye, we could still be being politely buried by praise,” Dayne said, smiling with faint relief. “Truly the worst case scenario. I will have a servant show you to your rooms, but for now, we’ve all earned some rest.”

“Thank you,” Steve said by force of habit, but his thoughts were elsewhere even as he followed Dayne from the throne room. It could have gone worse alright, but his worse certainly didn’t include putting up with the praise of a king. But he had his shield, and a room to get to. Pondering might’ve-beens wasn’t his style, no matter how much fisticuffs might’ve been involved.

X x X

The feast loomed threateningly, but the evening was still hours away, and so Steve had some respite. Respite to consider something somewhat important that had come to his attention during the audience with the King.

He stood in the room that a servant had led him to, and it was a generous one, for the situation he found himself in at least. There was a rich tapestry on each wall, a colourful rug on the polished stone floor, and a stained glass window that the midday light filtered through. There was no helpful AI to adjust the temperature to his desire, and no stereo steadily marching through decades of music, but maybe he had been spoiled by Tony and the 21st century.

There was a bed, too. Just the one, which would be unremarkable, save for the chest of Naerys’ possessions sitting off to one side. The rug would be comfortable enough.

Behind him, the door to the room swung open, and Naerys stepped through. “I spoke with the steward,” she said, closing the door. “He said it was the King’s command that we be given this room. I wasn’t able to get another elsewhere.”

“I’ll sleep on the rug,” Steve said, shaking his head. “It’ll still be better than on the road.”

A pinched expression came across Naery’s face. “That’s not--it will be fine,” she said. “I was able to arrange for lunch to be brought to the room. I know you haven’t been eating as much as you should these past weeks.”

“Thanks,” Steve said. “I was going to go looking for some.”

“I have to do my part somehow. We can’t all slay monsters with a single blow,” she said, smiling. “I wager Dayne’s retelling will become quite the tale once the bards get hold of it.”

“You heard it?” Steve asked.

“No, but the servants are already retelling it,” Naerys said. She hesitated for a moment. “They also say the King returned your family shield to you.”

“He did,” Steve said. “I wasn’t sure he would for a moment there.”

“Can I see it?” Naerys asked. She flushed. “It is just, you stormed Sharp Point for it and followed it across the Crownlands…”

Steve grinned. “Well, I can hardly be Captain America without my shield. There was a song about it, you know,” he said as he turned to retrieve it.

“A song?” Naerys asked, voice alight with curiosity.

“Oh, it was awful,” he said. “My friend Tony set it as my-” he paused, unwilling to go into cell phones and the like, “-he arranged to have it sung every time I entered a room for days.” He cleared his throat. “When Captain America throws his mighty shield, All those who chose to oppose his shield must yield.” He pulled the shield from where he had hidden it under the bed frame.

“That is awf--oh by the Seven what happened to your shield?!”

Steve held the shield with both hands by the side that was still whole, taking in the damage. Thanos hadn’t quite split it in two with whatever his enormous blade was made out of, but it was still missing a fair chunk of metal.

“There was...a battle,” he said slowly. “An enemy beyond any we’d faced before. We--I think we won, but it wasn’t quick, and it wasn’t easy.”

“Will you have it repaired?” Naerys asked after a long moment. “King’s Landing has some fine smiths on the Street of Steel.”

“It can’t be repaired,” Steve said. “The metal it is made of is almost unique. Vibranium, they call it. A man stole some once, and he was hunted to the ends of the earth for it.”

“What of Valyrian steel?” Naerys asked. At Steve’s questioning look, she explained. “A type of metal that only the dragon captains of Old Valyria could forge. They are treasured heirlooms lighter and sharper than any other blade.”

“Maybe,” he said, but he was doubtful. It took more than a light metal capable of holding a sharper edge to match the feats vibranium was capable of. He returned his shield to its place beneath the bed. “But it will still serve as my shield, even if I can’t bounce it off my enemies any more.”

“It’s still an heirloom worthy of a great captain,” Naerys said. She moved over to the chest holding her belongings, fiddling with the lock.

Steve stepped over to a nearby arrangement of table and chairs, richly appointed and likely worth a small fortune in this age. He took a seat and rested his chin on a fist, frowning in thought. “Actually, I had a question about that.”

“About what?”

“‘Captain’,” Steve said. “What does that word mean to you?”

Naerys blinked, pausing in the unpacking of her few belongings. “Well, a captain is someone who rules a group of people. They give orders to them and have them obeyed. When they pass on, the title goes to their heir.”

Slowly, Steve closed his eyes and covered his face with one hand.

“Did you think it meant something else?” Naerys ventured.

Steve groaned. “I thought it was a military rank,” he said. “A man who commands a hundred or so soldiers.”

“No, that would be captain,” Naerys said, using a new word Steve had yet to encounter.

“Have I been introducing myself as Lord America all this time?” Steve asked, face still sunk into his hand.

“Lord America of the United Kingdoms of America,” Naerys confirmed. “Is that not your title?”

“Tony and Sam can never learn of this,” he said, voice muffled. “No. I am definitely not Lord America. I am Captain America.”

“So you are not a noble?” Naerys asked. She seemed..not disappointed, but puzzled. Adjusting.

“No. We did away with institutions like that in my land centuries ago,” Steve said. “God, this is embarrassing. I need to clear this up.” He got to his feet, as if to find someone to admit everything to.

“But you are still a man of stature, yes?” Naerys said.

“Well...kinda,” Steve admitted. “But it isn’t something I was born to.”

“Were you a man of wealth?” she pressed.

Steve considered the slightly ridiculous amount of money in his account that he hardly touched that came from several decades of backpay. “Yeeeaah,” he admitted, drawing it out.

“If you walked up to your king and asked him to do something, would they throw you out?” Naerys pressed.

“Well, no,” Steve said, thinking of the circus that would come from his waltzing into the Oval Office.

“Then it seems to me that you are a noble, just by another name,” Naerys said, sounding pleased, as if she had returned something to the way it was supposed to be. “You should continue to introduce yourself as Lord America. It is what you would be known as here, and many lords would not understand the situation in your lands.”

“Would that be so bad?” Steve asked.

“They would dismiss you, and not know your worth,” Naerys said. “And it is no lie. People will already assume it upon seeing you with your arms and armour.”

Steve gave a great sigh, sinking back into the chair. “I imagine life will be easier if people see me as a noble, too.”

“There are many doors that will be open to you that otherwise aren’t,” Naerys said. “Tourneys, for one.”

“Great,” Steve said. “Guess I’m Lord America then.”

“Of the United Kingdoms of America,” Naerys added helpfully.

“Of the United Kingdoms of America,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Bucky would never let him hear the end of this.

The matter settled, Naerys returned her attention to her small chest, carefully sorting through what few possessions she had been able to bring with them on their flight from Sharp Point. Most of its contents were precious keepsakes, cushioned by some few changes of clothes.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Steve said. “Where did the lockbox end up?”

“There’s a nook behind that tapestry,” Naerys said, pointing to the wall furthest from the door. “It’s the obvious place, but you’re a guest of the King, so it will be safe. Why, did you want to make some purchases?”

“Later, before we leave,” Steve said. “I mean, if you want to keep traveling with me.”

“Of course,” Naerys answered quickly. “I can be of great help to you.”

“So long as you’re sure,” he said, finding the solid lockbox that held his share of coin from the victory over the Brotherhood. Opening the box to reveal the bounty of gold coin within, he quickly counted out ten and approached his companion. “Here. What I owe you for nursing me back to health,” he said, dropping the heavy coins into Naerys’ startled hands.

Naery’s jaw dropped. “Feeding you did not cost me ten gold dragons,” she protested, gaze fixed on the coins.

“Feeding me was the least of what you did. I’d still be wandering the coast trying to learn the language if it wasn’t for you,” Steve told her. “And this doesn’t wipe the debt clean. It just starts to make up for the money you spent on me, and for me forcing you to flee your home.”

“No, Lor--Steve, I cannot accept this,” Naerys said, tearing her eyes away from the money. “This is a decade of savings for me.”

“All the more reason for you to take it then,” Steve said. “It’s important to have your own money to rely on, and there’s still ninety more gold coins in here, plus whatever I get for selling that armour that Smiling Knight was wearing.”

“Your attitude towards money is that of a lord, if nothing else,” Naerys said, smiling, but she closed her hand around the coins, before tucking them away in her chest.

As Steve returned the lockbox to its hiding place there was a rap on the door, and the scent of food reached his nose. “Food’s here,” he said. “Let’s see what the kitchen of a king has to offer.” Any further serious talk could wait. With what he was expecting of the feast that evening, this might be his only calm meal of the day.

X x X

The halls of the Red Keep were alive with activity that evening, as nobles and courtiers gossiped and laughed. The fading sun bathed the red stone walls, almost making them look aflame. Lanterns and torches lit the castle, and red and black liveried men with firm grips on swords and spears watched it all.

Steve and Naerys joined the crowds making for the feast hall, just another pair of well dressed figures. Steve had shaved, and Naerys had seen to his hair, casting away his barbarian looks gained over weeks of rough travel. She had then arranged for some servants to pour a bath and banished him from the room, during which time he took the chance to obtain some better clothes. Showing up to a feast in armour that couldn’t be cleaned properly was something he was sure wouldn’t go down well, and if his instinct was right, Naerys showing up in what dresses she could afford as a commoner at Sharp Point would only lead to ridicule. They wore now what he had managed to arrange to buy from the steward, an outfit in red, white, and blue of clothing that Steve didn’t know the names for, while Naerys swept along in a pale lavender dress that matched her eyes. As they walked, Steve couldn’t help but notice a small but true smile on her lips, threatening to break out into a grin. Her eyes darted about, trying to take in as much as she could at once.

“Have you ever been to a feast like this?” Steve asked, keeping his voice below the murmur of the crowd.

“I hardly saw the inside of my father’s castle at all once he passed, let alone attended what passed for feasts there,” Naerys said. Her hand was in his arm as they traveled the Keep passages. “I never would have dreamed of being invited to a feast thrown by the King.”

“I guess an event like this is more than I figured,” Steve said.

“Did you not attend great feasts with..people of your rank?” Naerys asked.

“Sure, sometimes,” Steve said. “But those weren’t quite the same. More to catch up with friends than for any celebration or pageantry.”

“Your land had feasts simply to see friends?” Naerys asked. “Not to make connections or show your favour?”

“We did have those,” Steve admitted, “but they were more work than anything,” he said, thinking back to the few fundraiser or charity balls he’d attended.

Ahead, the feasting hall doors awaited, and in short order they passed through to a tall hall with four long tables running along its length. Many seats were occupied but not all, and the dull rumble of conversation drifted up to the rafters.

“My Lord?” a voice asked at Steve’s elbow.

“What can I do for you son?” Steve asked, turning to find a young page boy at his side.

“His Majesty the King has invited you to join him at the high table,” the lad said. “The two seats on the right are for you.”

Steve looked to the end of the hall, where a table sat upon a raised dais looking down the rest of the tables, perpendicular to them. The King sat in the centre in a chair with a higher back than the others and layered with gold. He could see Barristan and Jaime up there, as well as another girl with similar features, although curiously they weren’t seated next to each other. There were others he didn’t recognise as well.

“Swell,” he said. “Thanks for the heads up.” He glanced to Naerys. “Ready?”

Naerys let out a slow breath. “Of course. All eyes will be on us, the foreign lord and the bastard girl, neither of whom know much about courtly manners, but everything will be fine.”

“Don’t worry,” Steve said confidently as they began to make their way down the hall. “If things go south, I’ll just punch someone.”

“Oh, good,” Naerys said, tension fading. “Wait no-”

“Just smile and wave Naerys,” Steve said. “Just smile and wave.”

Thankfully, they managed to reach the high table without committing any unforgivable faux pas, although Naerys did manage to disguise a quick dig of her elbow into his ribs. They came to a halt before the table, Steve figuring it was best to pay their respects to the King before taking a seat.

“Your Grace,” Steve said, giving a slight bow, while Naerys gave one much deeper. “Good evening to you.”

“Brushing up on our customs, I see,” King Aerys said, looking at him over a goblet. “But I’ve given the instruction that ‘Your Majesty’ is to be adopted as suitable as well.”

“That’s...good to hear,” Steve said.

Aerys waved him off. “I always keep an eye out for innovation worthy of adopting,” he said. “But I must ask, is it custom in your land to arrive late to a feast?”

“Apologies,” Steve said in his ‘Buy War Bonds For America!’ voice. “I wouldn’t dream of subjecting you all to myself in the aftermath of weeks on the road. Making myself presentable took longer than expected.”

“Well, I will forgive you,” Aerys said, making a point of grace. “But just this once!” He turned to the man on his left, clad in the armour of the Kingsguard. “This is Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of my Kingsguard. Make my introductions, good ser. The Lord America is from a foreign land, and cannot be expected to know you all by sight.”

“Your Majesty,” Gerold said, bowing slightly in his seat. He was an older man, older than Barristan even, although his trimmed hair and beard still held more pepper than salt and he bore his armour well. “May I introduce Lord Steven America of America and Lady Naerys Waters, natural daughter to the previous Lord Bar Emmon, to the Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the throne, Rhaegar Targaryen, and his wife, Princess Elia Martell of House Targaryen.” He inclined his head down the table.

Steve looked past Barristan, who sat to the King’s right hand, to see a young man who looked like a younger Aerys, but without the long hair and rough nails. He had the face of a dreamer, and gave Steve and Naerys a slight nod. To his right was a young woman with dusky skin and kind eyes, and she favoured them with a smile.

“A pleasure, Lord America,” Elia said. “We hope to hear about your homeland at some time.”

“Lord Paramount Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King and Lord of Casterly Rock, also joins us,” Gerold continued, indicating a stern, broad man with a razor sharp jawline and golden hair who sat at the very end of the table, face masked with polite interest.

“My most able servant,” Aerys murmured to himself in such a way that all heard it, smirking behind his goblet. Steve noticed that he hadn’t put it down since he arrived.

A muscle twitched in Tywin’s jaw, but he said nothing.

“Lord Tywin’s daughter, Lady Cersei Lannister,” Gerold said, as if he hadn’t been interrupted. Cersei sat next to Elia, and favoured him with a courtly nod. She was young, but already possessed great beauty, and when she grew into it Steve wagered she’d be beating off men with a stick. “You already know Ser Barristan Selmy, as well as Ser Jaime Lannister,” he said. Curiously, Jaime was sitting next to the empty chair that either Steve or Naerys would take, rather than with his family. “And this is Lord Owen Merryweather, of House Merryweather.” A jolly looking man sat between Jaime and Gerold.

“An honour to meet such a warrior, Lord America,” Merryweather said, beaming. He was a portly man, richly dressed with thinning hair. “I pray to hear of more tales of your adventures in Westeros in times to come.”

“Pleasure to meet you all,” Steve said, keeping his thoughts off his face as Naerys gave a deep curtsey. The whole seating arrangement seemed off to him, like a joke that only one person was in on. That the man he figured to be the Prime Minister was at the very end of the table was the least of it. Cersei was rigid in her seat next to Elia, and Merryweather had almost turned his back on Jaime to speak to the rest of the table. “I appreciate you hosting us.”

“It is the least I could do,” Aerys said. “Please, join us.”

Steve and Naerys walked to their seats, and Naerys subtly nudged Steve to take the one next to Jaime. They sat, and servants quickly brought jugs to fill their goblets. Steve gave his a sniff; it was some kind of white wine, and took a polite sip. Wasn’t too bad. The conversations of the hall washed over him, and he turned to the young knight beside him.

“Jaime,” Steve said. “Glad to be out of the wilderness?”

“Steve,” Jaime said, toasting him with his goblet. “Yes, there is something to be said for the city. How have you found it so far? And you, Lady Naerys?”

“Haven’t had much chance to see the city yet,” Steve answered. “But I hope to tomorrow. Got a lot of things we’ll need to buy. We didn’t have much chance to take more than a horse from Sharp Point.”

“Emphasis on ‘take’, or so I hear,” Jaime said with a sly smile.

“That horse was the foal of one my father gifted to me,” Naerys said. “I think it was only fair.” A moment later, she looked like she was regretting her words.

But Jaime only laughed. “All is fair then. You should send a servant to make your purchases and come to the training yard. I’m sure there are many knights who would love to test themselves against you.”

“We’ll have to see,” Steve said with a shrug.

A light bell rang, and then a moment later a number of side doors opened, servants pouring through holding steaming plates of roasts and dishes of gravies and all sorts of side dishes. Entire pigs were carried to each table, while a smaller table was set up before the dais so that the food might have somewhere to sit without crowding them. Despite himself and his hearty lunch, Steve felt his stomach rumble.

During the feast, Steve has the chance to speak with others at the high table. Who does he reach out to speak with, and what topics does he raise? Keep in mind the seating arrangement and what that means for conversation.

“What catches your eyes, milord?” a serving man asked, one of several assigned to the high table.

“Are these all the pigs, or are there more on their way?” Steve asked. They looked delicious, crackling perfectly cripsed, meat soft enough to carve with a spoon, all sat on a bed of golden vegetables.

The servant considered. “I believe we have another twenty four ready to serve.”

“Great. I’ll have one,” Steve said.

“Excuse me, milord?” the man said, blinking. “They are…quite sizeable.”

“I know what I’m about son,” Steve said. “Bring it out to me in stages, I don’t want to deprive anyone else. I’ll have some of that tomato soup while I wait.”

The servant hesitated only for a moment before doing as he was asked, ladling up a bowl of red soup with a rich aroma.

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Steve said. There was only one spoon at his setting, so he figured he couldn’t go wrong. The servant departed the hall as he began to dig in.

“An entire pig,” Jaime asked, dubious.

“I’ve got an appetite,” Steve said. “And it’s been a while.”

“We ate the same rations through the Kingswood,” Jaime pressed.

Steve shrugged. The scent of so much food in the hall was really something, and it was only fuelling his hunger.

“As he was healing, he ate a month’s worth of food in a week,” Naerys said. “I had to dig up my savings to stop him chewing the bowl.”

“Well, I’d been in a battle, and then I had to swim through the day to get to shore,” Steve said. “I worked up a fair hunger. If it hadn’t been for you I would’ve been eating bark,” he said to both of them.

Jaime opened his mouth to ask something, but then visibly changed his mind. “Best that you take advantage of His Grace’s generosity while you can,” he said. “I imagine you’ll spend a pretty coin on your food when you depart.”

“We won’t starve,” Steve said, enjoying his soup. “I’ve been hearing about this place Harrenhal. Winning an event or two there ought to set me up well.”

Jaime barked a laugh. “‘An event or two’ he says,” he said. “As if the greatest warriors from across the Kingdoms aren’t going to flock to the castle in search of glory.”

“I’ve been in a scrap or two,” Steve said. “I like my chances. What are the events again?”

“There is talk of some small events like axe throwing, and a horse race,” Jaime said, as he tucked into his own meal. “Perhaps even a tourney of singers.”

“That sounds like an event for you, Steve,” Naerys said, hiding her smile behind her goblet. “You’ve a fine voice, from what I recall.”

“That’s right,” Jaime said, eyes alight with mischief. “Will you be sharing a song from your homeland with us this night? Only, it was such a privilege last time.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Mocked by the few friends I’ve made in this strange land,” he said, voice flat. “I see how it is.”

“Is singing not an expected accomplishment from warriors of your homeland?” Jaime asked, voice full of false confusion.

“You’re talking a lot of shit for a kid who still takes fighting lessons with me Jaime,” Steve said, lips twitching.

Naerys snorted, and then coughed to try to cover it up. When that failed, she busied herself in her goblet, red on her cheeks, ignoring the chuckles of the other two.

The first plate of Steve’s bounty of pork arrived as he finished his soup, and he set about it with a will. “What about you Jaime? Do you plan on competing at Harrenhal?”

“Of course,” Jaime said, pride in his eyes. “The joust of course, which is where the true prestige is, but perhaps also the melee. There is also the archery, but that isn’t for me. What events draw your eye?”

“The melee, definitely,” Steve said. He’d seen some of those reenactments in Central Park a time or two and they looked like great fun. “Axe throwing won’t be a challenge.” Not after using his shield. “Archery I suppose I could try. I’ve been getting some practise in with Fletcher Dick’s bow.” He grinned. “Maybe a drinking contest or two.”

“A drinking contest?” Jaime asked. “I wouldn’t have thought you the type.”

“I’m a soldier,” Steve said, mind going back to his time with the Commandos. He felt an old stab of longing. “I clean up well, but I could tell you some stories.”

“Would you care to share some?” Owen Merryweather said, joining the conversation. Sitting as close as he was, he could hardly have avoided listening in. “I must admit to some curiosity as to your homeland.”

“Stories from home,” Steve mused. Well, he was a bit limited in what he could talk about without being burned as a witch, but he could make it work. “There was a war, when I was young. A terrible war. The death toll…” he shook his head. “The enemy was a man who did terrible things to his own people. A bully.” He took a sip of his drink, his audience rapt. Hightower was listening with half an ear too. “Well, I don’t like bullies. So I volunteered to fight. They turned me away. Not fit to fight they said, too sickly.”

“Your health obviously improved,” Merryweather said, raising an eyebrow at the shirt analogue he wore that was perhaps slightly too tight against his muscles.

“There was, you’d call him a maester, I think,” Steve said. Naerys had already heard this part of his story, but was listening all the same. “He helped me. Saw what I could become when no one else did.”

“So you volunteered again and fought,” Jaime said.

“Nah,” Steve said. “When I became Lord America, suddenly I was more useful raising morale at home,” he said, seamlessly adjusting his story for his audience. “I wasn’t too happy, but there wasn’t much I could do. But after a few months of that, I got news of Bucky.”

“Bucky?” Naerys asked.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve said. “We weren’t related, but you’d call him my brother. He and a bunch of others had been captured by the enemy, and our forces couldn’t afford to mount a rescue mission. I was ordered to leave him.”

“So you committed your personal forces,” Merryweather guessed.

Steve shook his head. “I snuck out with two friends and found the prisoner camp. Infiltrated the camp, found Bucky and the soldiers they’d captured, armed them, and broke out. We destroyed the camp and everything they’d been working on there, and fled back to our army. We got back just as their commander was declaring me dead.”

“I imagine this commander was relieved not to have lost you on his watch,” Jaime said.

“He was pretty grumpy about it all,” Steve said. He finished clearing his plate, and a servant was already bringing him a new one. “Had this look on his face that said he wanted to tear me a new one but knew he couldn’t in front of the men.”

“I imagine you were hustled home after that,” Merryweather said. “Losing the heir would have been a blow.”

Steve shook his head, not correcting the assumption, but Hightower spoke up.

“You were given a command, weren’t you?” the old knight asked.

“My first,” Steve said. “I fought with them for the rest of the war.” That I was there for, he added silently.

“What manner of war was it?” Merryweather asked. “How large a fight?”

Steve looked at him.

“I ask only to find some common ground, so that I might better understand,” Merryweather said, excusing himself.

Steve paused in his meal, chewing slowly. He swallowed. “For every one hundred men, women, and children in our kingdoms and those of our enemies, three died. Sword, sickness, or the cruelty of the enemy, by the end, everyone knew someone who had died. Everyone. We have and will never war on that scale again.”

“Three in one hundred,” Merryweather murmured, frowning.

“What’s the population of this city?” Steve asked.

“Perhaps five hundred thousand people,” Hightower answered.

“Fifteen thousand of them dead,” Steve said. “And the same for every other city and hamlet across the kingdom. Spread across every kingdom involved. Some suffered more than others.”

“This is why you fight with champions now,” Jaime said with an air of realisation.

Steve nodded, and busied himself with his meal.

“Champions?” Merryweather asked.

“Lord America leads a team of champions in his homeland,” Jaime explained. “When kingdoms have disagreements, rather than go to war, they decide it by a duel of champions.”

“Like a Trial of Seven,” Merryweather said, approving.

“It was a dark time,” Steve said, “but we moved on. New times, new struggles.” New atrocities. The sound of a snap crossed his mind’s eye. “A feast is hardly such a place to discuss them though.”

“Of course,” Merryweather said, giving a short chuckle. “We shall have to hear more tales of your homeland another time. Something cheerful, perhaps. Have you given any thought as to your stay in King’s Landing?”

“Perhaps,” Steve agreed. “And yes, some. Mostly picking up equipment Naerys and I need. I wanted to see the city, too, but tomorrow...Barristan!” he raised his voice slightly, catching the attention of the man on the King’s far side. He noticed that there was a man standing behind the King’s chair, dutifully tasting a piece of every morsel that found its way onto his plate before Aerys would so much as touch it. Nor would the King put down his goblet, as if fearful that doing so would allow someone to slip something into it.

“Aye, Lord America?” Barristan answered, leaning forwards.

“I seem to remember someone talking a good game about ‘putting me through my paces’ in the practise yard,” Steve said. “You wouldn’t remember which ageing knight that was, would you?”

Barristan’s eyes gleamed at the challenge. “I just might, America. Although I would hope that you will prove more than a mere pig to slaughter, as it were.”

Steve glanced down at his plate, the fourth of the night, that he was almost finished clearing. “Maybe I’ll do you a favour, and leave my shield at home.”

“Already planning your excuses, I see,” Barristan said, smiling.

“Keep telling yourself that, old man,” Steve said.

Jaime’s head was switching back and forth between the two men like a spectator at a tennis match, while Naerys was hiding a horrified smile with one hand. Merryweather was smiling awkwardly, caught in the middle, while Aerys was distracted, seemingly staring down the table at Tywin.

Good cheer returned to the table, or at least their end, as banter and conversation continued to flow. It took him most of the feast, but Steve did finish off the pig, stomach full and content for the first time in a while, having consumed more than any three others at the table.

The last bit of excitement for the feast came midway through dessert, a rich cherry pie with a side of cream, as Naerys was regaling Steve with a tale of her childhood.

“-father took me out on the ship for the day, and he showed me how to catc-”

There was a scrape of wood on stone as Aerys rose abruptly, biting at a thumbnail. The hall attempted to rise in a panic to show their respect but the King was already striding out of the hall via a side door, Barristan and Gerold on their feet and following. Those who had risen fell back to their seats, but the sudden startling had broken the mood, and seemed to indicate to all that the feast was done.

Steve gave Jaime a questioning look, but the kid shrugged and shook his head. Already, Tywin was rising from his seat, his daughter with him, sending a look down to his son.

“I shall see you on the morrow, Steve,” Jaime said. “Perhaps after Ser Barristan is through with you, I might take the chance to give you some lessons for a change.” He gave a cocky grin.

“We’ll see, kid,” Steve said. Jaime departed with his family, and Steve turned to Naerys. “Ready to go, or did you want to stay?”

“I think now is a good time to take our leave,” Naerys said, a frown creasing her brow. Many of those in attendance were leaving, but some were staying, gathering into a group by one table and steadily getting louder.

They rose, Steve offering Naerys his arm, and began to make their way down the hall to the main entrance. They were still new enough to the Keep that retracing their steps was necessary. It was halfway down that a servant stepped past Steve and he felt something be slipped into his free hand. He didn’t react, slipping it unobtrusively into his pocket and keeping it there until they got back to their room.

As they arrived and bolted the door behind them, Naerys saw something in his expression. “What is it?”

Unrolling the small thing that had been given to him, Steve took in the note and the message upon it.

Come to the Godswood tonight, alone.

-A friend

“Trouble,” Steve said.

X x X

In the end, the choice was easy. After making sure Naerys still had her dagger, Steve retrieved his shield and stepped back out into the corridors of the Red Keep. He was not the most inconspicuous of figures, carrying a broken shield emblazoned with his heraldry upon it, but he wasn’t about to go to this mysterious rendezvous unarmed.

The Keep had yet to quiet down for the night, courtiers and servants still coming and going. Several gave him odd looks, him still in his feast attire but carrying his weapon, but his steady pace saw him pass without comment. A pair of guards eyed him suspiciously, but a smile and an easy nod satisfied them.

As he walked, however, the most pressing issue facing him was the fact that he simply didn’t know where the godswood was.

Thankfully, he caught sight of a young serving boy making his way down the hall towards him, some manner of message in his hand.

“Excuse me,” Steve called, and the boy startled for a moment, before quickly stepping up to him. “Could you tell me where the godswood is?”

Whatever the boy had expected, it wasn’t that. “Follow this hall past two other turns, then take the iron banded door on the left m’lord,” the boy said.

“Thanks,” Steve said, digging out a silver coin from his pocket for the kid. “Don’t let me keep you.”

The boy scurried off with a bow, and Steve continued on, directions in his mind. After a short journey, he found the door indicated, and stepped through.

The godswood was an oasis within the Keep, isolated and calm, especially at night. Naerys had told him about the gods that the northerners worshipped, the Olds Gods, but for all that this green sanctuary was well cared for, he couldn’t say it felt particularly holy.

The place appeared to be empty, but in the quietness of the night, Steve’s keen ears could pick out the slight movements of one or two people. His shield was a reassuring weight on his arm as he approached.

Those he was to meet waited at what he thought to be the heartree, a great oak with a face carved into it. For a moment, it looked like the eyes followed him as he approached, but it was just a trick of the light. As he neared, the two men waiting turned to face him, moonlight illuminating their features, and Steve relaxed slightly. No suspicious footpads were these, but men he knew. Arthur Dayne, and the Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.

“Lord America,” the Crown Prince greeted him. “I must apologise for the subterfuge, but it was an unfortunate necessity.”

“Prince Rhaegar, Dayne,” Steve said, giving them a nod in greeting. “I won’t say the note wasn’t a little ominous.”

“I would have much preferred to speak more casually, but being seen to speak with me might force your hand, one way or another,” Rhaegar said.

Steve raised an eyebrow and waited. He’d learnt from the best how to get answers from someone without speaking a word.

“My father and I are...not on the best of terms,” Rhaegar said. “Suffering through that feast would only be the beginning if you were drawn into it.”

“I thought the feast was alright,” Steve said.

“You weren’t at my end of the table,” Rhaegar said dryly. “The politics and old grievances down there were lengthy enough to write several books on.”

He thought back to some of what he’d seen at the feast. Nat could have gleaned every last secret, but he didn’t have the talent she did. Had. Still, he had seen enough. “I think I saw what you mean.”

“You will already have to play the game to some degree, but you see why I don’t wish to drag you in further,” the prince said.

“Politics aren’t my favourite pastime, no,” Steve said by way of agreement. He loosened his grip on his shield. Seems like his caution wasn’t needed.

“I regret the lack of opportunity to talk earlier; I always enjoy meeting people from foreign lands. How long do you expect to visit our land for?” Rhaegar asked. “Do you hope to depart soon?”

“If I could click my heels and return home now, I would,” Steve said slowly. “But it won’t be that easy. I might be relying on my friends to come and get me.”

“You may be a guest in our realm for some time then,” Rhaegar said.

“Have you thought about gaining lands of your own here?” Dayne said, speaking up for the first time. He had been more of a lookout than a proper part of the conversation until now. “You showed great skill at arms against the Brotherhood.”

“No, I’m not looking to put down roots,” Steve said, shaking his head. “I imagine I’d have to swear fealty for one, and that wouldn’t work for me.”

Rhaegar seemed to relax every so slightly. “Yes, your obligations to your homeland may make that somewhat difficult,” he said.

That, Steve thought, and the fact that he wasn’t going to just swear obedience and loyalty to someone because he happened to be wearing a crown, but that probably wasn’t the tactful way to answer.

“How has your time in Westeros treated you so far?” Rhaegar continued. “You are a guest at the Red Keep now, but I’m informed your arrival was less than ideal.”

“There are things here that remind me of times my home has left behind, and for the better,” Steve said honestly, thinking of the hints and attitudes he had picked up on, particularly those towards women and bastards. “But there have certainly been new and exciting times here too.”

“Left behind?” Rhaegar asked. “What, and how so?”

“Women,” Steve said bluntly. “The way Naerys was passed over for inheritance because she was a woman was an attitude we left behind.”

“That’s very Dornish of you,” Rhaegar said. “Perhaps you should visit if you have the opportunity.”

Steve shrugged. “Maybe. It’s not just inheritance, but I’m not going to expect this new country to have the same values of my own. I can only go on with my own values, while you go on with yours.” Left unsaid was that if there came a time when those values collided head on, it wasn’t going to be him that stepped aside.

Rhaegar made a noise of agreement. “I must admit I had an ulterior motive to meeting you here.”

“Oh?”

“I am a student of history, and I have a fondness for myths and heroic figures. Could you share one from your homeland?” Rhaegar asked.

His tone was light, but Steve could feel that there was more to this question than what was clear on the surface.

“Well, there’s the tale of Thor, the God of Thunder,” Steve said slowly. “A warrior of great skill with a powerful band of friends.” This might not have been the kind of ‘myth’ Rhaegar was expecting, but he wasn’t going to get into Beowulf here. “He was a prince, until one day his arrogance outstripped his good sense and he was exiled and stripped of his power to learn what it meant to be strong.”

Rhaegar listened intently, but a slight frown marred Dayne’s face.

“He found himself in a strange land, and was taken in by its people, and he learned a number of important lessons,” Steve continued on, paraphrasing horrifically. “Until a threat came from the heavens he hailed from. He gave his life to protect those who had taken him in, and in doing so, proved himself worthy of the power of Thor. He rose up to defeat the threat, wielding thunder and lightning. There’s more, but that’s the beginning.”

“A curious tale,” Rhaegar said. There was the slightest trace of disappointment in his voice. “Does it have any basis in truth?”

Steve coughed. “Some, yes.”

“If you should have the chance, perhaps you should ask the maester for tales of the Last Hero,” Rhaegar suggested. “It is a Northern tale, and I was reading over it not so long ago. I would be interested to hear if your home had a similar one. The maester would still know where the scrolls are.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve said. He had been meaning to see the maester anyway. He could at least glance over it so he could say he’d asked.

“This must be our conversation for now, I am afraid,” Rhaegar said. “If I am gone for too much longer, I will be missed.”

“I’ll not keep you from your wife then,” Steve said.

Rhaegar hesitated, then smiled. “Yes, of course. It was pleasant speaking with you, Lord America.”

“And you, Prince Rhaegar,” Steve said. “Dayne.” He gave the knight a nod, which he returned.

The prince began to leave, only to turn back. “I must warn you, however, America. There are those who will use you for their own ends in this Keep, if you let them. The bait may take many guises, even an honour, but it is bait all the same. Be cautious.” With that he continued on his way, Arthur at his back.

The two men disappeared in short order, leaving Steve to ponder the conversation alone. Whatever that was all about, he had a suspicion it was something entirely different to what he suspected. He shook his head. He could think on it later. For now, it was time for bed.