On the sixth day of the tournament, Steve found himself lingering in his bedroll. The usual stirrings of his companions, of Keladry prodding Toby from bed, of Toby’s complaints waking Robin who would then groggily begin preparing a light breakfast, of Naerys giving the boys instructions for the day, had failed to eventuate that morning. The faint breathing and not so faint snoring from the other tent rooms told him that their tenuous routine had been broken.

Steve roused himself from his bedroll, pulling on a thin tunic before emerging into the common area. He worked quietly to prepare an easy snack for the others to share in when they woke, listening to the sounds of the tent village stirring outside. Dodger joined him, wandering in from his self-appointed guard post outside, and leaned his ugly, pointed head against Steve’s knee, giving him a soulful look. Steve slipped him a hunk of ham and fat, and his tail beat against the canvas floor.

Toby was the next to emerge, likely following his nose, and he accepted the ham and cheese slider Steve handed him, mumbling his thanks as he blinked sleep from his eyes. “‘M gonna go check on the horses,” he said, shovelling down the food. “G’luck with the axes.” He wandered out of the tent, hair sticking up every which way.

Robin shambled out of his room, and hung his head as he saw Steve cleaning up after himself. “Sorry Steve,” he said. “I should have woken up earlier.”

“Making breakfast won’t kill me,” Steve said. He would make a comment about how waiting hand and foot on him wasn’t the kid’s job, but as far as Robin saw it, it was. “Here, eat this and then you can help with the tidy up.”

Naerys joined them at the table, wearing a light lilac dress and running a brush through her hair. The brush was a delicate thing, finely made and with a mirror fixed to its back. “Thank you, Steve.”

“Dressing up today?” Steve asked of her, nodding to the dress she wore. It wasn’t as fine as the lavender dress she had worn to the feast in King’s Landing, but it still stood out for its quality.

“You are going to win the axe throwing today,” Naerys said. “How your retinue looks will reflect on you.”

“So confident in my throwing arm?” Steve asked.

Naerys scoffed. “We watched you throw knights around in the melee. An axe should hardly trouble you.”

“I’m just saying, I hope you didn’t put any money down on me. Maybe I slept on my arm funny. I could have a bad elbow,” he said. His tone was concerned, but it was belied by the smirk he wore.

The reward for his cheek was a flinty stare.

“Does this mean I have to dress up too?” Robin asked, chewing the last of his slider.

“Yes,” Naerys said. “Make sure you wear the clothing with the white star stitched on the breast.”

Robin made a sound of agreement through another mouthful.

A groan heralded Keladry’s awakening, and a few moments later she stepped through the flap to her room, massaging her temple.

“How’s your head?” Steve asked.

“I’ve had worse in the lists,” Keladry said. “I do not think I care for drinking.” She took a seat at their small table in what passed for the dining room, and accepted the plate Steve slid towards her.

“If a hangover is anything like getting your bell rung I don’t blame you,” Steve said.

“I thought I had seen you drinking in the tavern,” Keladry said, as she began to eat.

“I drink when others do, but alcohol doesn’t really affect me,” Steve said.

“You could probably clean up at a drinking contest,” Robin said.

“Probably,” Steve agreed.

“We made some coin off him with the arm wrestling the other day,” Naerys said, “but I made more than that betting on him in the melee.”

“A few coppers and silvers in the tavern doesn’t seem much when you look at the event prizes,” Keladry said.

“Not when the prizes are thousands of dragons,” Robin said. “I suppose it’s still good fun for a night at the tavern though.”

A thought occurred to Steve. “Speaking of good tavern fun,” he said, turning to Naerys. “How long were you going to keep volunteering me to sing when you have a voice like that?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Naerys asked, occupying herself with her food.

“You and your pal Jenny,” Steve said. “Where did that come from?”

“I never said I couldn’t sing,” Naerys said.

“Uh huh,” Steve said.

“My father paid for lessons when I was young,” Naerys said, relenting in the face of Steve’s unimpressed eyebrow. “And I enjoyed hearing new songs; it was a rare day something new came to Sharp Point.”

“You have a very fine voice,” Keladry said. “Better than any minstrel that ever graced my father’s castle.”

“Thank you,” Naerys said, smiling.

“You could sing for our supper when Steve spends all his winnings on food,” Robin said.

“I’m not that bad,” Steve said, pulling a face as he wiped his plate clean with the last of his bread.

“Uh huh,” Naerys said, sassing him back.

“You should sing more often,” Steve continued. “I could share some songs from home with you, if you wanted.”

Naerys looked down at her plate. “I haven’t had much cause to sing since my father passed,” she said. “But I’d like that.”

Steve nodded his approval. “Now come on,” he said, getting to his feet. “There’s a few hours before the axe throwing, and I wanted to show you some throws you can do while you’re wearing a dress.”

Naerys laid a hand on her freshly brushed hair, but sighed and got to her feet.

“I’ll clean all this up,” Robin said, reaching for the mess of Steve’s breakfast preparations.

“That can wait,” Steve said. “I need someone for Naerys to practice on, thanks for volunteering.”

“I use a bow for a reason, you know,” Robin said, groaning, but did as he was asked.

“So long as you know what to do when someone gets up close,” Steve said, before turning to Keladry. “Is Toby coming to the axe throwing?”

“He’ll spend all day at the stables if we let him,” Keladry said, as she placed a hunk of ham back in its vinegar soaked bag.

“Fair enough,” Steve said. “Let’s make the most of this then,” he said to Robin and Naerys as he led them out of the tent. There was an open patch of grass behind their lodgings that had served well enough for what training he had been giving them.

X x X

The main training area of Harrenhal, what the locals called the Flowstone Yard, had been repurposed for the axe throwing competition. Rather than setting up simple lanes for progressively more distant targets, it seemed that there would be three different challenges, each harder than the last. What those challenges would be, Steve couldn’t say, as only the first and largest area had been readied, thirty odd static ring targets sitting where the archery butts had been.

“More people than I had expected,” Robin said. “I thought the joust would draw more.”

“Five thousand dragons is five thousand dragons,” Naerys said.

“The high nobles will tend towards the joust,” Keladry said, “but they are not the majority.”

As was usual, the event was supervised by a maester and his attendants, writing down and sorting information, and so they joined the line that led to their cloth pavilion to register Steve’s presence. Here and there he caught whispers and glances of others recognising him, but it was still nothing like back home. Even Keladry was recognised a time or two. It was all a lot like what Steve thought being a popular athlete would be.

“Lord America,” the maester said when they reached him.

“Maester,” Steve said. He recognised him as the same man in charge of the melee. “Good to see you again.”

“And you,” he replied. “Moreso knowing we cannot see a repeat of the poor behaviour in the melee.” Despite his apparent age, his eyes were keen as he shuffled parchment around and dipped a quill in an inkpot.

“I should hope those responsible were taken to task,” Naerys said, “given their lack of respect for Lord Whent.”

“Rumour has it that Lord America’s seneschal plans a creative rebuke with the armour of the ringleaders,” the maester said dryly. “But my Lord Whent has also expressed his displeasure and evicted them from his tower. They reside in the tent village now.”

“They might be our new neighbours then,” Robin said. “Lucky us.”

The maester’s eyes flicked to Steve with a slight frown.

“At least I don’t need to watch for an ambush this time,” Steve said. “Unless there are some properly awful throwers.”

“One might be surprised,” the maester muttered. At his elbow, a scribe handed over a roll of parchment they had been writing on through their conversation, and the maester glanced over it. “All is in order.” He scribbled something on it, too messy for Steve to make out what even with the writing lessons Naerys had been giving him.

“Appreciate it,” Steve said. “I never caught your name…?”

“Baldrich,” he said, “Maester Baldrich.”

“I’ll see you at the prize giving, Baldrich,” Steve said.

“No doubt, my lord,” Baldrich said. “On the stage, or in the crowd?”

One of the attendants listening in couldn’t quite hold in a scandalised gasp, even as Steve snorted in amusement. He turned away, having held up the line for long enough, and led the others further into the Yard. It was not quite time for the events to start, but he could see several ways to keep occupied until then.

The first targets he had seen earlier had been opened for warm-ups, and he could see several people making use of them. In a central position, what was usually a sparring circle now hosted a raised pavilion with tables laden with various foodstuffs. It was mostly host to middling to minor nobles, but there were a few men of a more rough appearance hanging around the edges. He spied Lord Vaith and his wife ensconced near the middle. Finally, if he didn’t feel like practising or socialising, he spied some benches in the shadow of a tower that they could wait for the event to start on.

“Anyone hungry?” Steve asked.

“I won’t say no to the good stuff,” Robin said.

Keladry and Naerys gave no protest, and so they approached the pavilion, looking for a spot for the four of them. The food on the tables was fit for a lord, small delicacies and treats that were out of reach for the average peasant and even many minor nobles. It seemed to be open for any who wished to partake, even if it was mostly only nobles who felt comfortable enough to park themselves in the pavilion proper. A pleasant breeze ran through it, carrying snippets of conversation and jests.

Steve glimpsed a plate of the small pastries that Ashara had served the day she had hosted him, and made a beeline for them. Coincidentally, this placed them right by Lord and Lady Vaith.

“Lord America!” Deryk Vaith greeted him. He was feeding grapes to his wife, Tyta.

“Vaith,” Steve said, taking a seat. “Good to see you again.” His companions joined him at the bench.

“Lady Naerys,” Tyta said. “Ser Kedry.”

“Lady Tyta,” Naerys said, smiling.

“No ser, I’m afraid,” Keladry said.

“Truly?” Tyta asked. “After your showing in the joust, I had assumed.”

“Not yet,” Keladry said. “Perhaps one day.”

“Your ward isn’t with you today?” Deryk asked, after looking around for Toby.

“Toby has been inseparable from Quicksilver, the sand steed you gifted him,” Naerys said.

Deryk nodded approvingly. “That is good to hear.”

“Oh, this is Robin, another ward of ours,” Steve said, realising the kid hadn’t met the Vaiths. “Robin, this is Lord Deryk and Lady Tyta Vaith.” He was pretty sure he hadn’t made any faux pas with that introduction.

“Pleasure,” Robin said, giving a jerky seated bow.

Naerys’ smile told Steve that he hadn’t done as well as he thought, but it was an amused exasperation she wore, so he figured it couldn’t be too bad.

“Steve tells me you plan to compete in the archery?” Deryk asked.

“Aye,” Robin said. “Steve is - generous.”

“You’re a fine shot,” Steve said. “Seems a shame to hold you back.” He helped himself to a few of the pastries.

“It seems you surround yourself with talent,” Tyta said.

“It just works out that way sometimes,” Steve said.

“The melee, the horse race, that spectacular joust,” Deryk mused. “If the axe goes the same way, I can already feel the weight of my coin purse.”

“It’s a good problem to have,” Keladry said.

“No doubt,” Deryk said. “You won’t lack for competition, however.”

“Anyone in particular?” Naerys asked, leaning forward.

Deryk fed Tyta another grape as she leaned into him. “The field is broad, but there are some who stand out. Alrik Saltcliffe, an Iron Islander, who won the axe throwing at the Lannisport tourney. Ugly man, missing his nose, but he has a good arm. Burton Crakehall, of the Westerlands, is a favourite, at least by the bookkeepers.”

“Any relation to Sumner Crakehall?” Steve asked.

Deryk frowned, thinking.

“His son, I think,” Tyta said. “You know Lord Sumner?”

“We fought together during that Kingswood Brotherhood business,” Steve said.

“You’ll have to tell the tale,” Deryk said, eyes lighting up in his tanned face.

“It feels like everyone I meet already knows it,” Steve said, pulling a face.

“The bards know their craft,” Deryk said. “There is also rumour of a smallfolk giant being sponsored by Lord Whitegrove of the Reach, but we shall see.”

“I’ll watch out for them,” Steve said.

“About that tale,” Tyta said.

Naerys nudged him with her elbow, hiding a smile, and Steve sighed.

“Well, I met Sumner Crakehall when Naerys and I were making our way through the Kingswood, following the trail of my shield…”

X x X

In time, the start of the competition came, and the maesters and their assistants began to summon the participants to the first round in lots. Steve had just wrapped up his tale of fighting the Brotherhood with Jaime’s knighting by Arthur Dayne, having drawn something of an audience amidst the pavilion, when he heard his own name called.

“Good luck, Lord America,” Deryk said. “You’ll have to forgive me if I cheer you on from here; you see, I cannot move.” He gestured to his lap, where Tyta had made herself comfortable over the course of Steve’s story.

“How terrible for you,” Steve said, straight faced. He rose from his seat, snagging one last pastry as he went.

Naerys, Robin, and Keladry followed him, falling in step behind him as he made his way towards the target range. In their fine clothes, white star stitched on their breast, they looked the match of any noble entourage.

The axe range was as he had seen, some thirty targets arrayed where the archery butts had once stood. Curiously, they were arranged in three sets of ten, with each set being ten paces behind the previous. Steve judged the closest to be about ten paces away and the furthest, thirty.

“Lord America?” one of the assistants called, getting Steve’s attention.

“That’s me,” Steve said.

“This way, if you please,” the man said, leading him towards a small gathering of other throwers. “Your retinue may watch from the stands, or from beside the lanes, as they please.”

“See you afterwards,” Steve said.

Keladry clasped him on the shoulder, while Robin gave him a nod. Naerys wrapped him in a quick hug, before following them to the side of the lanes where a small crowd had already formed. Steve joined the smaller crowd of participants, and waited.

“Competitors,” a herald announced, with a surprisingly big voice for a slender man. “This is the first of three rounds. You will be given three axes to throw. You will be scored by accuracy, with a bonus for distance. You may choose your target. The lowest scores will be eliminated. You will not be told your score.”

Muttering arose from the crowd, some more sanguine than others.

“When you are ready, approach your target of choice, and you will be given your weapons,” the herald concluded.

Steve made directly for the most distant targets, judging it to be well within his ability to hit. He figured this first round must just be to winnow down the field. He was handed three handaxes, and he hefted them, getting a feel for the weight. They were balanced well enough, and he tossed one up into the air in a spin, catching it easily.

Now, the question was, did he want to have some fun here, or keep it simple?

Well, better safe than sorry. At least to start with. He placed two of the axes on the ground, head first so their handles pointed upwards. Side on to the target, draw the axe back, breathe out, and throw.

With a solid thunk, the axe sunk into the target, just off centre. Steve frowned slightly. Well, a bullseye was a bullseye. He picked up the next axe.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Steve looked over to the lane beside him, where a man had just sent three axes into the bullseye in as many seconds. Unless there was another man missing a nose, it must be Alrik Saltcliffe, the Iron Islander. The man saw Steve looking and gave him a grin, one that seemed designed to pull back the fleshy cartilage to show off the hole in his face. Steve gave him a polite smile, and made his throw.

It landed in the bullseye with a satisfying thud, next to his first throw. That was probably enough to guarantee his progression to the next round, so he could afford to have some fun. He stretched, shaking out his legs one at a time, and picked up the final axe. He tossed it up into the air, once, twice, getting a feel for it and how it spun. On the third time, he tossed it higher, eyes tracing it as it spun in the air, before it began to fall.

Steve jumped and spun, lashing out with his boot, connecting cleanly with the back of the axe head and sending it spinning down the lane. It was his worst ‘throw’ yet, only barely inside the bullseye ring. He landed lightly on his feet, head tilted in consideration. Clint would probably heckle him, but he was happy enough.

He turned to the assistant who had watched him throw. “What do you think, good enough to pass?”

“Uh, y - I mean, I can’t say, my lord,” the man said, jaw slightly agape.

“Fair enough,” Steve said. “Am I good to go?”

“Yes, that is, the results will be announced shortly, my lord,” the assistant said.

Steve left the target area, looking for his companions. They met him halfway back to the pavilion, with varying expressions. Robin was bouncing on his feet, looking more enthused than Steve thought was warranted, while Keladry bore her usual blank look of calm. Naerys though, looked like she didn’t know whether to smile, shake her head, or pray to the heavens.

“How do you think I went?” Steve asked, in a voice that would have had Bucky immediately on the lookout for shenanigans.

“Can you teach me how to do that?” Robin burst out.

“I think you’ll pass,” Keladry said.

“At least our money is safe,” Naerys said.

“Yeah I thought I did alright too,” Steve said. “And that’s part of the self defence I’ve already started you on, Robin.”

Robin gave a small fist pump.

“I suppose it could have been worse,” Naerys said. “Let’s go back to the pavilion.”

They weren’t the only ones to have noticed Steve’s unique throwing method, and they drew more than a few gazes as they found a spot to sit again, although not near the Vaith’s this time. Steve helped himself to a small tower of pies as they waited, watching the other throws and discussing the competition. Most seemed to choose the middle distance target, hoping that the middle ground between difficulty and reward would pay off for them. Some were better than others, confidently planting axes in the bullseye on each throw, while some had clearly entered in hopes of squeezing through somehow with only middling skill.

Then there were the ones Steve was keeping an eye on. Alrik, the Islander, who had thrown when Steve did, but also a man with a similar look to Sumner, who had also taken the furthest target, and a hulking young man who spent most of his time eating quietly, keeping his head down while his smaller companion spoke easily with a small group of nobles.

Finally, the last of the competitors had their chance, and a sense of anticipation took hold as the maesters conferred with their assistants, and the herald called for their attention again.

“If I call your name, you have progressed to the second round,” he said, before peering at a roll of parchment. “Lord Alrik Saltcliffe, Jak Flowers, Lord Steve Rogers…”

He continued on, but Steve tuned out. He was on to the second round, but what else had he expected? Naerys patted his hand in congratulations as Robin rapped his knuckles on the table.

There was a short wait for the rest of the names to be read out, and then another as some participants weren’t sure if they had heard their names or not, or hadn’t and tried to argue that they should have, but then those who would continue were called over once more. Steve brushed some crumbs from his lap, leaving a much depleted tower of pies behind, and joined them.

Some hundred odd men had progressed, and they watched as servants carried tall logs of wood, hewn roughly to resemble a man, further along the backstop wall from the targets they had thrown at before. The logs were staggered within a rough circle, maybe twenty five of them total.

“There will be ten rounds of ten men!” the herald announced. “Each man will be given five axes, with a coloured string around the haft. Your colour will be recorded, and only axes with your colour will be attributed to your score. More distant targets are worth more points. Only the most lethal blow on a target will be counted! If you knock another axe from a target, neither throw will count. You will have half a minute to make your throws.”

Steve perked up slightly. This sounded interesting. He stepped up as his name was called in the first group of ten, and accepted the loop of leather that was handed to him, five axes dangling by their heads on it.

“The round will start at the whistle. Do not throw before the whistle,” the herald said.

The axes felt the same as the ones he had thrown before, and he saw a blue length of string tied below their heads. He lined up with nine other men in a curved line, toes up against a piece of rope on the ground, and took a breath.

The leather loop felt awkward in his hand, the axes getting in the way of each other as he would attempt to grab them. Glancing each way, he could see some men had them all hanging off one arm, while others had done what he had earlier and placed them on the ground, ready to be picked up.

Steve eyed the targets. This was a competition of speed and accuracy, and they were competing for limited targets. Twenty five logs between ten men, each with five axes? He needed an edge.

He took an axe in hand, and tossed it into the air. Then he took another and repeated the gesture with another, and another, before catching the first axe and tossing it again. Each time he caught an axe he added another to the air, until he was juggling all five axes at an easy pace. Some of the other throwers turned to stare at him, but he was focused on the targets at the far side of the circle.

A shrill whistle came, and Steve responded. He drew his arm back as he caught each axe and flicked it like a skipping stone, sending it spinning towards the ‘neck’ of each log. The first cut halfway through the head instead, but the second hit on target and left it only nearly headless. The next three cut straight through, less of his attention and balance needed to keep the axes in the air, and there were three thumps one after another as the heads fell to the ground. The axes ended up in the earthen wall a short distance behind.

Steve dusted his hands, even as most of the others were only throwing their second or third axe. He stepped away from the line, turning to the same assistant whom he had spoken to after the first round, and grinned.

The man gave him a look. “Please wait for the announcement on your advancement to the next round.”

“Swell,” Steve said. He headed back to his friends, a skip in his step. “So,” he said as he reached them. “Anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

X

It took time for ten rounds of men to take their shots, and each time the targets had to be shuffled out and replaced. As it was before, the field was quickly separated, this time between those who knew how to throw an axe, and those who could kill with one. Alrik, Crakehall, and Flowers again stood out to Steve as the closest thing to competition he had, displaying speed, skill, and power in their throws.

The attention paid him by the other spectators was greater this time, most having seen his stunt with the axes. Men and women approached his group to talk briefly, to ask where he had learnt his skills, if he was that Lord America, if he thought he would win (usually with a familiar glint in their eyes), if he would do as well in the melee final, if, if, if…

Long experience being a public figure saw him deal with the attention well enough, even if his ‘Yes Citizen, of course I have time to sign all your memorabilia!’ voice did start to make an appearance the longer it went on.

As the day continued, however, Steve began to pick out some strangeness. Not in the pavilion, or in the axe throwing competition, but around it. Knights and servants and men-at-arms could be seen striding about the place, not as a group or with singular purpose or like they had a destination in mind, but like an upturned ant mound, all searching for something.

“What do you suppose is going on?” Steve asked.

“They’re searching the grounds,” Keladry said. She had seen the same thing Steve had.

“No alarms or panic,” Steve mused.

“If it was an assassination attempt there would be,” Keladry said, nodding.

“Theft maybe?” Naerys asked, having caught on to what they were seeing.

“Good thing Dodger is guarding the tent,” Robin said.

As they spoke, a pair of hedge knights approached the pavilion, stopping just beyond its edge, peering into it as they scanned all those present. After a long moment, long enough for those inside to notice and for some to begin to take umbrage, they turned and marched away.

“Robin,” Steve said, “would you mind chasing after those two and asking what’s going on?”

Robin was quick to his feet, jogging after the pair as Steve watched. When he caught up, the men didn’t stop, but they did seem to be answering his questions. After a short conversation, Robin turned and jogged back.

“There was a mystery knight in the joust, but they offended the King somehow, and he has ordered they be unmasked and brought before him,” Robin reported. “He promised a reward for the one to do so.”

“I do not envy that knight,” Keladry said. “To draw the King’s attention in that way.”

Naerys’ face was grim. “I hope they are not found,” she said, very quietly. “King’s Landing held many unsettling rumours.”

“I don’t blame them for wanting to avoid getting tangled up in all that,” Steve said. “The little people rarely do well when they get caught up with the rich and powerful.”

“Harrenhal is a big place,” Robin said, optimistic. “Hard to find just one person.”

“We’ll hear what happens, regardless of what,” Keladry said. “I think the final round is about to start,” she added, nodding towards the herald as he conferred with the maesters.

Ten men had made it to the final round, and the crowd applauded as they were named. Steve raised a fist as his name was read out first, followed by those he had marked as his closest competitors. The number of spectators outside the pavilion had swelled as the day went on, many coming to see the final but uninterested in the preliminaries, and the few wooden stands that had been erected around the final round zone were filled almost to bursting.

“If you will follow me, we will proceed with the final round,” the herald announced, voice rising above the chatter and clamour.

Whatever they had planned, it took some setting up, and they had gone to some effort to keep it hidden. Instead of laying it out in the open, tarps had been erected to hide it from sight. As Steve and the other nine men approached, a small crowd of nobles followed them, leaving the pavilion empty. He saw the Vaiths, and they each gave him a nod, looking very pleased with the way things were going.

“Lords and Ladies,” the herald said. “The final challenge.” He gave a nod to someone off to the side, a rope was pulled, and the tarp hiding the targets from sight collapsed.

“Huh,” Steve said, taking it in. It reminded him of one of the games at the carnival, where you would shoot targets with an air rifle as they moved back and forth but much larger, and instead of tin cutouts, two dozen whole pigs dangled from hooks as they were ferried back and forth in rows by a system of ropes and pulleys. The pigs had been crammed into old and battered armour; one was even wearing a busted helm. At least he could tell they were already dead.

The crowd murmured as they took it all in.

“This is the final round. There will be a single winner. You will be judged on speed and lethality. Maesters will examine the corpses and assign points accordingly. The round will last one minute. There is no limit on axes.”

Trays of hand axes were carried out by pairs of strong men, and one was placed beside every competitor. Again, coloured strings were tied beneath the head of each.

“You will begin when I give the command. Take up your first axe.”

Steve took up his axe, and held himself ready.

Well, they wanted lethality.

“Begin!”

Steve cocked his arm and launched the axe, and was rewarded with the splintering of metal as the breastplate was cracked open. Exclamations came from the crowd, but another axe was already in his hand, and another target in his mind’s eye. He moved down the line, planting an axe in the chest of every pig that passed before him, sending the rope pulling them swinging with every hit. He was reminded of the boxing bags he used to use before Tony had gotten him better ones.

There were four or so pigs to a rope, and six ropes total, carrying the pigs first one way, then looping around to go back the other. It didn’t take long for Steve to make his mark on every pig in the first row, so he moved on to the next, cracking open the armour of each like a tin of sardines. The armour might have been old and cheap, but it was still steel, and more than a few spectators were looking at the big foreign lord askance, asking themselves what it would be like to face a man who could do that on a battlefield. He barely glanced at the tray of axes as he picked each one up, his motions carrying with them an air of practice.

There was little time to take in how the others were doing, but he was seeing a lot of axes aimed at necks and legs, as if for the arteries, while some were trying to plant an axe in every pig head they could.

Steve reached the last pig, and saw he still had axes to spare, so he began to retrace his steps, putting another axe next to the first one. It was easier this time, having already broken through the steel, and he was able to bury them deeply, almost up to the wooden haft.

A decent portion of the crowd had begun to let out a cheer with each throw, overpowering the sound of breaking metal and pulping flesh. He reached the first target again, and paused. He was pretty sure he’d done enough to win, but he wanted to be sure.

He had ten axes left. He picked a target, and let loose.

The pig buckled and swung with every axe he buried in its guts, and the stench of blood and offal began to fill the air as something delicate was ruptured. He ran out of axes before he could properly cut it in two, leaving it hanging with its entrails spilling out, attached mostly by the spine. He snorted, attempting to clear the scent from his nose, reminded unpleasantly of King’s Landing.

A whistle pieced the air. “Halt! The competition is over!” the herald boomed, bringing an end to the throwing. “The maesters will examine the targets and make a decision.”

Steve shook his arm out, looking around for his friends. He caught their eyes from their position in the crowd, and gave them a thumbs up. Robin returned it enthusiastically, while Keladry gave him a nod and Naerys a very sarcastic clap. He knew introducing her to the slow clap was a mistake.

A group of three maesters went from pig to pig, examining the axes and the colour of the string tied to them. On a number of his own, they had to tug them out to get at the string, and then squint to see past the blood. They had checked half of them as the murmurs of the crowd grew, before they stopped and looked back. They conferred briefly, glancing over the pigs they had yet to look at closely, before turning and heading back to the herald. A brief discussion was held.

“Lords and Ladies! Please join us by the pavilion, where we will announce the winner, and award the prize of five thousand gold dragons!”

X

A short while later, the finalists had gathered in front of the pavilion, the spectators gathered in a large circle around them. Naerys, Keladry, and Robin stood close to Steve, making their association with him clear. Deryk had clapped him on the shoulder already, beaming.

In the pavilion itself the herald was speaking with Maester Baldrich and a man in scuffed armour with sweat slicked hair. Their discussion came to an end, and they approached the waiting crowd.

“My Lords, my Ladies,” the herald began. “May I present to you Ser Wylis Whent, son of Lord Whent.”

A wave of slight bows and curtsies rippled across the crowd, as Wylis stepped forward. He had blunt features, but was not unhandsome. “Be welcome in my father’s castle, and know that we are well pleased to see such fine warriors at this tournament!”

A cheer answered his greeting.

“I am told that today saw many great displays of skill, skill that would have been enough to take the field at any other tournament! Alas, on this day there can only be one winner.”

The crowd fell quiet, anticipation building, although many glanced in Steve’s direction.

“For his dominating and unique display of skill, it pleases me to award the prize of five thousand gold dragons to Lord Steve Rogers of America!”

The crowd roared, and Steve raised a fist in triumph. He enjoyed the unique experience for a long moment, before turning to the other competitors and offering them his hand, one by one. Some were surprised at first, but none rebuffed him, even if some looked more dejected than others. Alrik seemed philosophical about it all, and Burton appeared to have enjoyed himself even, but Jak Flowers looked like someone had killed his dog, even as the noble with him seemed to be trying to give him a pep talk. Steve did his best to cheer him up when he couldn’t be heard over the crowd, but he wasn’t sure how effective he was.

From the corner of his eye, Steve saw Ser Whent beckon to him, and he stepped clear of the scrum that the crowd had become after the announcement of his victory. His companions followed him, and the noise of the crowd died down as they gained some small distance and their enthusiasm plateaued.

“Lord Rogers? Lord America?” Wylis Whent asked.

“Steve,” he said.

“Lord Steve,” Wylis said. “Congratulations on your victory; I’m afraid I missed it as I was still recovering from my joust but Baldrich tells me it was quite something.”

“I just did my best, Ser Wylis,” Steve said.

“From what I saw of those pigs you certainly did,” Wylis said, laughing. “There are two topics my father has asked me to speak with you on. The first is about the gold.”

Steve glanced back to Naerys, indicating with his head for her to join him. She stepped up, and Wylis turned to include her in the conversation.

“You can understand that five thousand gold dragons is not something to be left lying around, but it is your gold, and your decision,” Wylis said. “If you would like, we can give it to you now in a secure lockbox, or we can hold it in our vault until the end of the tournament.”

“I’d appreciate keeping it in your vault,” Steve said, after exchanging a look with Naerys.

“Very well,” Wylis said. “We can arrange a convenient time for you to take possession of it after the departure feast.”

“The fewer who know when and where we have it, the better,” Naerys said.

“Just so,” Wylis said. “Secondly, Baldrich tells me that you and your retinue are staying in the tent village, is that correct?”

“It is,” Steve said. He didn’t have any problem ‘slumming’ it, but he wouldn’t appreciate being looked down on for it.

“My father would like to offer you and your retinue an invitation to join us as guests in the Kingspyre Tower,” Wylis said.

Steve gave Robin and Keladry a quick glance, eyes lingering on Kel. After a brief moment, she nodded, and Steve turned back to Wylis. “A room with a bath beats a tent any day,” he said.

“I will send servants to move your possessions under your direction,” Wylis said. “But I must take my leave. My brother is due to defend my sister’s crown as Queen of Love and Beauty. Congratulations once again.”

“Thanks, and good luck,” Steve said, giving him a nod as he departed. He turned to his companions. “Some day, huh?”

“Five thousand gold dragons!” Robin said, giddy.

“We won’t go hungry for a while,” Steve said.

“It is more than my family’s holdings would generate in five years,” Keladry said.

Naerys was staring off into the distance in a way that reminded Steve of Pepper. “What are we going to do with five thousand gold dragons,” she said suddenly. “Where are we even going to keep it? Bandits will crawl out of the woodwork if rumours spread.”

“I was told about a good bank in Braavos,” Steve said.

“The Iron Bank,” Keladry supplied.

“Yes, that could work,” Naerys said. “We’d just need to get to Saltpans or Maidenpool, and then book passage without word getting out. If we made straight for it, we could likely beat the news.”

“Buying property is an option too,” Steve said. “I was always told to make your money work for you.”

Naerys tilted her head in thought. “I’ll think on that. There are a few ways...”

“Something to consider,” Steve said with a shrug. He looked back out at the crowd that was still milling around. “Should we speak with the adoring public, or make a break for it?”

“Speak with them, at least a bit,” Naerys said, snapping out of her thoughts. . “You need to build your reputation.”

“Gladhanding it is,” Steve said. He stepped out of the pavilion and towards the crowd, putting on his ‘Together, We Can Save America!’ smile. All in all, it had been an eventful day, and it was only half over.

X x X

They lingered amongst the crowd for a short while, making small talk and answering inane questions with vague answers. Most were just interested in making conversation with Steve, or being seen to do so, but there were some who seemed interested in his homeland. Keladry and Naerys found themselves people of interest too, Kel for her performance in the joust and Naerys for the assumptions some made about her position with Steve. With the bustle of the crowd, there was no chance to speak with the Vaiths, so he restrained himself to a look and a nod as he answered the third question about his thoughts on the upcoming melee. When Steve felt that enough time had been spent mingling, he began to make his excuses, feeling very much reminded of his touring days. They extricated themselves with some small effort, and began to make their way back to their tent.

The castle grounds seemed busier than usual, with more men at arms than usual buzzing about the place, sticking their noses into things, but the party received no more than a few surreptitious looks as they walked. Soon, they arrived back at the tent to find boy and dog sitting at the front, scowling at passerby.

“Didjya win?” Toby asked, peering at their pockets as if they might have the prize money stashed away in them.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I won.”

“So you can prolly afford some better stuff for your ret-in-yew, right?” Toby continued on.

“Toby,” Keladry said, voice strained.

“What? I didn’t swear or nothin’.”

“You can’t talk to your head of household like that,” Keladry said, pinching her brow.

“Steve’s Steve,” Toby said, shrugging. “Ain’t no stuffy nobles around neither.”

“Let’s just...go inside,” Keladry said.

Naerys hid a smile as they trooped inside, Robin ducking off to his room.

“Ok but, you got coin now, so you can afford the good stuff yeah?” Toby asked.

Had Keladry been a less restrained woman, she would have thrown her hands in the air.

“What did you have in mind?” Steve asked, taking a seat. He had already decided to buy good armour for them all, but to him money was for spending, not hoarding.

“The food at the stables is shite,” Toby said. “Good stuff is kept for the nobles or costs extra.”

Robin snorted as he returned, his quiver in his hands. He sat between Steve and Naerys and began inspecting fletching.

“A serious concern,” Steve agreed. He turned to Naerys. “Do you think our new accommodation will come with better stable service?”

“I think it would,” Naerys said.

“What’s this?” Toby asked.

“Steve beat the competition so hard one of the Whents invited us to stay in the Kingspyre Tower with all the nobles,” Robin said.

Toby turned an impressed look on Steve.

“Steve has shown himself to be a warrior of note, between the melee and the axe,” Keladry said. “It would reflect poorly on the hosts not to make the offer.”

“When he win, it will lessen the embarrassment that comes with being defeated by a foreigner who isn’t even a knight, too,” Naerys said.

“And you weren’t sure ‘bout joinin’ up,” Toby said to Keladry.

“We had some compelling reasons to be wary,” Keladry said.

“When we movin’ in?” Toby asked, ignoring her.

“Today,” Naerys said. “Servants will be sent to assist us.”

“I’ll make sure they know ‘bout the horses,” Toby said. “Hey, what was all them people running around searching the place for?”

Keladry and Naerys exchanged a look.

“The King wanted to find someone, so he sent people to look,” Steve said.

“What’d they do, piss in his porridge?” Toby asked.

“Something to do with a mystery knight in the joust,” Robin said.

“Maybe someone pissed in his porridge anyway,” Toby said. “Chief got mad ‘bout all sorts of things when I did that to him.”

Steve bit back a laugh. “How did that go for you?”

Toby shrugged. “He never knew it was me,” he said. “I dobbed in another bugger and Chief left ‘im pissing blood for days.”

Everyone winced, and Steve decided not to comment on the satisfied look on Toby’s face. “I think I’ll chase down Ned,” he said. “He would have been at the joust.” It had nothing to do with him really, but sticking his nose into things that didn’t concern him had saved lives more than once.

“Are you sure you want to get involved?” Naerys asked.

“It’s just a few questions to a friend,” Steve said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Naerys worried at her lip, but sighed after a moment. “If you’re sure. I’ll remain here and see to moving to our new accommodations.”

“Anyone else coming?” Steve asked.

“I’ll come,” Robin said, putting down his arrows.

“Me too,” Toby said. “Been borin’ here.”

“I’ll stay to help Naerys,” Keladry said. “Behave,” she said sternly to Toby.

Toby scoffed, as if offended by the notion that he wouldn’t.

“We’ll see you at the new rooms,” Steve said, waving goodbye as he led the boys out of the tent.

The grounds were still awash with men-at-arms searching here and there, but Steve ignored them as he headed towards the Kingspyre Tower. Behind him, Robin began to regale Toby with a blow-by-blow of the axe throwing, the younger boy sounding suitably impressed at the right moments. Overhead, the sun was moving from noon to afternoon, and he enjoyed its warmth as they walked.

“So where’s the Stark’s rooms?” Robin asked as they entered the tower. It wasn’t as busy as it had been when Steve and Keladry had come to speak with the maester, but it wasn’t slow either.

“I’m not sure,” Steve said. “I bet Ashara would know.”

They retraced the steps Steve had taken when he had visited Ashara and her ladies last time, making their way up the tower. To Steve’s surprise, they were not stopped or asked what their purpose was by any servants or men-at-arms they saw. He couldn’t imagine word had spread enough for him to be recognised by sight or that servants would be so quickly told of their invitation. He glanced at his clothes, and then back at Robin and Toby. They were all wearing the respectable clothing Naerys had prompted him to purchase upon arrival in Harrenhal, all in ‘his’ colours. Even the comfortable outfit he had worn to the axe throwing was a cut above that of the servants’ in quality.

“What’re you doing here?”

Perhaps he spoke too soon, as he turned to face the unimpressed voice. Its owner was familiar; it was the servant girl Lyanna who he had spoken with after dealing with the obstructionist maester. She was not looking at him, but at Robin and Toby, and otherwise, they were alone in the hallway.

“Walkin’,” Toby said, chin jutting out stubbornly.

“Oh, hey Lyanna,” Robin said, trying to sound unaffected.

“Miss,” Steve said.

“M’lord,” Lyanna said, giving a curtsey. “I can have these louts thrown out, if you wish.” Her voice was sweet as honey, but was belied by the smirk she was giving the boys.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Steve said, looking between the three. The boys seemed outraged but not offended, even if Toby was baring his teeth at her. “They’re a part of my retinue.”

“Might want to be careful the good silver doesn’t go missing, m’lord,” Lyanna said.

“We didn’t steal that silverware, we just -” Robin started, only to be cut off by an elbow from Toby. He sent a guilty look at Steve.

“Do I want to know?” Steve asked.

“No one got anythin’ they didn’t have comin’ to ‘em,” Toby said.

“Robin and Toby were right helpful,” Lyanna said, losing her proper diction. “Would’ve been up a creek without a paddle if not.”

Steve couldn’t help but notice Robin preen, and then try to appear as if he wasn’t. He sighed. “Was this what you got up to the other day when I was speaking with Ashara?”

“We ran into her around the tents,” Robin said, but he didn’t volunteer any details.

“So long as you did the right thing, I don’t need to know,” Steve said.

“I can show ‘em around the tower no problems m’lord,” Lyanna said. “Heard gossip you were moving in.”

“Did you want to hang out with your friend?” he asked the boys.

“We’re not - I mean - sure,” Robin said.

Toby just nodded.

“Be at the new rooms before dark,” Steve said. “And if you’re going to cause trouble, make sure it’s for the right reason.”

Robin gave a quick bow, and Toby mimicked something that could generously be called a credible attempt, before they scampered off at Lyanna’s heels. As soon as they rounded the corner, he heard them break into a run, already chattering. Kids would be kids, no matter the place.

Steve continued on his way, and in short order, he came to the door of the suite of rooms that the Daynes had been accorded. Raising his fist, he knocked three times.

There was a moment of stillness, the kind that you heard after a glass had been knocked over and shattered, and then Steve’s keen ears could make out movement from beyond the door. Quick shuffling, and whispers too strained to make out the details. A long minute passed, and were he a less patient man, or one unable to hear the arguing whispers interspersed with giggles, he might have knocked again. Eventually, footsteps approached, and the door was cracked open, but only halfway. Ashara Dayne stood there, lustrous hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, and a polite smile fixed to her face.

“I apol - Lord America?” Ashara started, thrown off whatever rhythm she had.

“Lady Ashara, sorry to barge in on you like this,” Steve said. “I was looking for Ned, but I don’t know where the Starks are staying. I was hoping you would know.”

Ashara struggled for a moment, before sighing. She glanced down the hall, as if making sure they were alone. “Come in, my lord.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Steve said, feeling awkward at Ashara’s reaction.

“Just...quickly, please,” she said, stepping back to allow Steve in.

Steve entered the suite, and the door was quickly shut behind him. “If you’re busy I can ask someone else.” Now that he thought on it, he probably should have just asked a servant. He was probably making some faux pas that Naerys could have saved him from if she were here.

“Not at all,” Ashara said. “I was just taking tea with my guest, and talking.” She led him deeper into the suite, to the sitting room that he had spoken with her and her ladies in the other day.

The sitting room was occupied by only her guest, and Steve began to get a clearer picture of what was going on. “Oh, hey Ned,” he said.

Ned looked up from his seat, placing down the cup of tea he held. “Steve, it is good to see you. Did the axe throwing go well?”

Ashara took the seat beside him, and Steve took one across from them.

“I won,” Steve said, taking in the scene. There was a tray with crumbs on it on a low table, but Ned’s tea was cold. “I was just looking for you, actually.”

Ned tensed. “How did you come to know I was here? Are people gossiping?”

Ashara winced minutely, but it was enough for Steve to notice.

“Not at all,” Steve said. “I came to ask Lady Ashara where you were staying; I thought you might be in your rooms.”

“Yes, of course,” Ned said. “I was feeling poorly at the joust, but well enough to visit.”

“Uh huh,” Steve said. “You’ve got a little lipstick…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely to his mouth.

Ned paled, and scrubbed at his face quickly. Ashara groaned.

“Ned, I’m not wearing lipstick,” she said.

Steve grinned. If Tony had been here, he would have said it was a shit eating grin.

“What will it take to buy your silence?” Ned said, holding his face in his hands. “Robert and Brandon are already insufferable.”

“An invitation to the wedding,” Steve said, joking.

“Done,” Ned said, only to freeze.

Ashara laughed, leaning over to place a hand on his knee. “Don’t let me leave you alone with my lady friends,” she said fondly. “They will talk circles around you.”

“I am at your mercy,” Ned said, raising his head once more. “And lucky for it.”

The new couple began making eyes at each other, and Steve coughed. “I take it the walk in the godswood went well then,” he said.

“Ned was very charming,” Ashara said, leaning back and leveling a stare, dissecting him. “We were just discussing when we might take another, with my handmaiden and chaperone supervising.”

Steve glanced around at the conspicuous lack of handmaiden. “Good thing I arrived to give her a break.”

Ashara smiled, relaxing slightly. “It is good indeed. And please, call me Ashara. Lady this and Lord that gets to be quite a mouthful.”

“So long as you call me Steve,” he said.

“What caused you to seek me in the first place, Steve?” Ned asked. He took a sip of his cold tea and made a face.

“I’d heard that something at the joust upset the King,” Steve said. “I wanted to ask someone who was there about it.”

Ned frowned. “A mystery knight. His presence enraged His Grace, but not before he unhorsed three knights and called upon them to discipline their squires over a matter of honour.”

“Was there something special about the knights?” Steve asked.

“They had won places amongst the champions, but only briefly. They were Haigh, Blount, and Frey,” Ned recalled. “From what I heard, His Grace was convinced the knight was mocking him.”

“Aerys is quick to rage, but why did he think that?” Ashara asked. It seemed this was the first time she was hearing the story too.

“They bore a laughing weirwood upon their shield,” Ned said.

“Isn’t that a symbol of the North?” Steve said.

“Not as such,” Ned said, although his frown deepened. “The Old Gods have followers across much of Westeros.”

“You didn’t depart the joust out of hand, did you?” Ashara asked. “Aerys might latch on to that.”

“I left with Robert, and several others, when he decided to carry out the King’s command to find the knight,” Ned said. “I may have given him the impression that if we split up we could cover more ground,” he added guiltily.

Ashara laughed, a bright sound full of mirth. “Perhaps you could survive my friends after all.”

“I fear I would make a poor conversation partner for them,” Ned said.

“Your tongue is quick enough to entertain me, I am certain it will be similar for them,” Ashara said.

Ned blushed furiously, and took another sip of his tea.

“You say you won the axe throwing, Steve?” Ashara asked, turning to him with a small satisfied smile. “That was a respectable purse.”

“Five thousand gold coins isn’t anything to scoff at,” Steve said.

“I heard your household was causing some anguish to the gambling houses also,” Ashara said.

“They’re the ones who set the odds,” Steve said with a shrug. “From the size of some of the other bets I heard being made, I think they’ll survive.”

“Have you made plans for your windfall?” Ned asked. “It is not uncommon for champions to pour their winnings into drink and revelry, but you don’t strike me as the type.”

“I’ve heard about this Iron Bank over in Braavos,” Steve said. “That should work for keeping it safe, but after that, I’m not sure.” He rubbed at his chin. “I’d like to put the coin to work somehow, like a trade school, or somewhere people can better themselves.”

“Five thousand dragons would easily secure a ship and crew to return to your homeland,” Ned suggested.

Steve was quiet for a long moment, before leaning back in his chair. “I don’t think any ship in Westeros could return me to my own shores,” he said.

“Where are your shores?” Ashara asked. “The bards say your story starts in the Crownlands, but the seas closest to there are known well.”

“What maps I’ve seen don’t show even a hint of my home,” Steve said, choosing his words carefully.

“How was it that you came to Westeros?” Ned asked. His brow was furrowed in thought.

Steve considered the two, thinking.

“...it was sorcery,” Steve said.

Ned straightened.

“I think that’s how you would describe it here, anyway,” Steve continued. “My home is far from any lands known here, and if I am to return, I will have to rely on my friends to find me.”

“Are your friends powerful users of magic?” Ned asked. There was a current of wariness to him.

“No - well,” Steve said, considering. “Not as we would see it, but they do have abilities you could call magic.” He thought of Wanda, and the wizard guy Tony had mentioned. “But also yes.”

“Were they members of your band of champions?” Ashara asked. Her hands were clasped in her lap.

Steve nodded. “For the most part, yeah.”

“You are a powerful sorcerer yourself then?” Ned asked.

A laugh surprised Steve as much as Ned and Ashara. “No. Lord, no. I’m just a man.”

Something about his answer seemed to reassure the pair, and they exchanged a look.

“That is quite something,” Ashara said.

“I don’t like hiding things like this,” Steve said, “but you can see why I have to.”

The couple nodded.

“You asked, and I’d like to trust you,” he finished.

“I appreciate the gesture, Lord America,” Ned said. “Speaking openly of sorcery upon your arrival would likely not have gone well for you.” He glanced at Ashara. “There are old tales of skinchangers and wargs in the blood of the Starks, but it’s not a tale we would share either.”

Ashara placed a hand on Ned’s knee. “In Dorne we remember Nymeria and the magics of the Rhoynar. I would not trumpet your tale from the rooftops,” and here she smiled, “but we will not turn on you for it.”

“I know,” Steve said. “You seem like good kids.”

“I am a man grown,” Ned said.

“Uh huh,” Steve said, eyeing the teenager. “Sure you are.”

Weightier matters were put aside in favour of good natured banter, and Steve stayed for a time, listening as Ashara prompted Ned to speak about the jousts and sharing his own tale of the axe throwing. Eventually, he noticed as the couple shared longer glances, and he was suddenly reminded of his Brooklyn days, hanging out with Bucky when he’d caught some dame’s eye. He made his excuses and said farewell, leaving the two to their time together.

As he left, his thoughts lingered on the events of the joust, and the Knight of the Laughing Tree. As far as he could see, the mystery knight had been standing up against a few bullies, and it stuck in his craw that they had succeeded only to run into an even bigger one.

He hoped they managed to escape all the men searching for them, but he had a bad feeling they wouldn’t.

X x X

The quarters afforded to them by the Whents were likely modest by comparison, but in a castle the size of Harrenhal, that meant little. They were a little under halfway up the tower, with many lords between them and the King who stayed at the top, but that was all right in Steve’s book. Stairs weren’t much of an issue for him, but they did get boring after a while. He had been surprised that the more high status rooms weren’t at the base of the tower given the lack of elevators; he figured this was something that could be laid at the feet of Aerys’ paranoia.

The suite he had been directed to by a helpful servant wasn’t quite as large as that of the Daynes. The front door opened into a receiving room, behind which was a hallway that ran its length with three doors on the far side. Each door led to a bedroom, and two of them had windows with wooden shutters facing west; the third and largest had a door that led to a small balcony. Simple furniture filled the rooms, some having already been there, some belonging to Steve and his party. It was the furniture situation that was the source of Steve’s headache.

“I don’t understand why the two of you can’t share the main room,” Steve said.

Naerys clasped her hands together, as if in prayer. From the look on her face, she may well have been praying for patience. “Because to outsiders, it will appear as if you are giving up the room that is rightfully yours to a sworn sword and your seneschal.”

“Not to mention what the rumours would say,” Robin added. “It’s bad enough already.”

“What do the rumours say?” Steve asked.

They were gathered in the receiving room, having mostly settled their possessions into their new quarters. All that was left was to decide who would sleep where.

Robin suddenly couldn’t meet his eyes. “Just, y’know. Gutter gossip.”

“I won’t bite your head off for telling me,” Steve said.

“Gossip and several songs have named me as your mistress since the beginning,” Naerys said, two spots of colour on her cheeks.

“Oh, is that all?” Steve asked. “Worse has been said about me for less reason.”

“If it were to be known that your ‘mistress’ was sharing the lord’s room with a sword sworn to you, all our reputations would suffer,” Keladry said.

“What if we switched the beds between the rooms?” Steve asked. “I get the lord’s room and you two the bigger bed.”

“Same problem,” Naerys said.

“No one would know.”

“The servants would gossip.”

“We could ask for another bed.”

“Sleeping in the same room is just as bad as sleeping in the same bed.”

“I could sleep on the floor and you take the bed.”

“No.”

Robin and Toby were looking back and forth like spectators at a tennis match.

“I could room with Toby and Robin,” Keladry offered. “Toby and I are well used to sharing a bedroll for warmth.”

“No,” came the answer from both Steve and Naerys this time.

Steve spoke up again as Keladry looked ready to insist. “When was the last time you slept in a proper bed?”

“...when I left my home to meet my betrothed,” Keladry said.

“You’re due for one then,” Steve said, tone final.

“Two single beds for the boys in one end,” Naerys said. “A double in the middle for Keladry, and Steve and I can share the lord’s bed at the other end.”

Steve pulled a face. “What were you just saying about reputations?”

“I’m a bastard born woman working closely with a lord in a job above a woman’s station. There are actual songs about us,” Naerys said, once more fighting to keep down a blush. “My reputation is already set.”

“I haven’t heard any of these songs,” Steve said, eyes narrowing.

“Whenever we go to Hunter’s Hall with you, the bards don’t play them,” Robin piped up.

“We can put a divider in the middle,” Naerys said.

“I’ve slept on far worse than a bedroll on a stone floor,” Steve tried one last time.

“The servants will eventually see, and the gossip will start anew,” Naerys said. “You already slept on the floor at the Red Keep.”

Steve sighed. “Alright. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“It is a comfortable bed in a castle,” Naerys said. “I am far from troubled.”

“So does this mean we can get our stuff to our beds now?” Toby asked.

“There was never any question over your sleeping arrangements,” Keladry said mildly, “so I don’t know why your things aren’t already in your room.”

“More fun ‘ere,” Toby muttered, as he and Robin returned to moving their possessions from the receiving room to their own.

By the time they had finished arranging the rooms to their satisfaction, it was well into the afternoon, and the sun had begun to cast an orange light into their rooms from the west. They had begun to discuss their plans for food, when Robin had suddenly realised that the archery competition was only a single sleep away, and promptly panicked. Rather than let him wear out his fingers at the archery range, Toby had dragged him to go and see the horses. Keladry had settled into her room to maintain her armour, and Steve found himself settling into a chair on the balcony of his room, taking in the view.

It wasn’t long before Naerys joined him, sitting down on the other side of the small round table the balcony held. She wore a shawl over her shoulders, blonde hair plaited and settled over one shoulder. For a long time, neither said anything, both content to watch the sun set.

“The servants call me ‘my lady’,” Naerys said abruptly.

Steve was quiet, switching his gaze to her.

“Not two moons ago I was a bastard girl with little prospects, and now the servants call me ‘my lady’,” she continued, staring towards the horizon. “It feels a dream at times.”

“Life has its way of surprising you,” Steve offered.

“I certainly wasn’t expecting you to wash up on my doorstep,” Naerys said, giving a small laugh, before she sobered. “I see servant girls and handmaidens and I wonder what the difference is between them and me.”

“There’s no difference really, just luck. We’re all the same in the end,” Steve said.

“Kings and Lords and bastards and whores?” Naerys asked wryly.

“Yes,” Steve said. “There’s not a goddamn thing that makes a peasant less of a person than a king. The only difference between them is the circumstances of their birth.”

Naerys paused, taken aback at Steve’s conviction.

“You were given a chance, and you seized it with both hands,” he said. “Your kindness, compassion, and strength of will are more important than being born a bastard. Don’t underestimate yourself.”

“I think you’re right,” Naerys said. “About there being no difference.” She fiddled with her braid. “Some would call that sort of talk treasonous.”

“I can’t betray someone I was never sworn to,” Steve said. “And I’d like to see them stop me from speaking my mind.”

“A full plate may keep you quiet, for a time,” Naerys said.

Steve snorted a laugh. “Was it the servants listening to you, or something else that made you think about all this?” he asked.

“I visited the gambling house to collect our winnings,” she said. “You are another two hundred dragons richer, by the way.”

Even more so than back home, counting his coin was all a bit abstract to him. On one hand, he knew an average peasant family could save a gold dragon or even two in a year, and on the other he knew that the average noble was pulling in thousands a year. He was in a strange state of feeling both wealthy and not, but then he was kind of used to that from his time with Tony.

“I should really be paying you all more,” he said. He was barely paying them more than a gold dragon a year each, and he had the coin to spare now.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Naerys said, turning to him with a stern look. “Our wages are already generous, as has been our outfitting.”

“I might as well do something with the gold,” Steve said. “It’s just going to sit in a box otherwise.”

“You are infuriating, Steve,” Naerys said, but her voice was fond. “Do you know how much we’ve each made just betting on you?”

“Enough to treat yourself, I hope,” he said.

“We’ve made enough,” she said dryly. “And you have completely distracted me from my line of thought.”

“Two hundred dragons in winnings,” Steve said.

“Yes,” Naerys said. “Almost as much as Sharp Point makes in income in a year, and I picked it up from a surly bookmaker with few questions asked because I am a part of your retinue.”

“Don’t forget the five thousand sitting in the castle vaults,” Steve said.

“Don’t remind me,” Naerys said. “I’m still trying to think of what to do with it after the tourney.”

“Aren’t we making for Braavos?”

“The Iron Bank will serve well, and allow you to make use of it in most cities, like King’s Landing and Oldtown and the like,” Naerys said. “But I’ve been trying to think of how to make use of the coin like you said and I’m just a bastard girl with little education and -”

“Naerys,” Steve interrupted, “breathe.”

Naerys closed her jaw with a click and took a deep breath. “Wealth comes from the land,” she said after a moment, “and you said you would want to invest in property, but in Westeros land comes with oaths attached, and unless I miss my mark you’re not interested in that.”

“I’m not in a hurry to swear any oaths here, no,” he said. Like heck he’d sign up to support a feudal structure where the strong walked over the weak.

“There are merchant voyages, but they all come with risk. You could buy property in a city, but those ventures are limited or, um, unsavory,” she said, colouring slightly. “Essos could offer more opportunities, but more and different risks too.”

“And you said you had little education,” Steve said.

“Father may have taught me more than I realised,” Naerys said. She paused. “Have you given any thought to returning to your home? You could afford to do so now, especially once you win the melee.”

Steve smiled at her confidence in him, but he turned pensive. For all their friendship, he still hadn’t told anyone anything even approaching the truth of where he was from. What he had shared could be passed off as fanciful stories exaggerated for the tale, even if he had spoken of Thor and Wanda amongst his other comrades. He had already shared some of it with Ned and Ashara, but he hadn't done that with Naerys, who had been with him the longest, and that didn't sit right with him.

“Westeros doesn’t have the means for me to return home,” Steve said slowly. “I think I’m stuck here until my friends come for me.”

“What do you mean?” Naerys asked.

Steve spent a moment weighing his decision, but only a moment. “I didn’t fall overboard and wash ashore. I was leading the Avengers, my comrades, as we fought a terrible tyrant. He was stronger than any of us, and had spilled oceans of innocent blood.”

Naerys listened, rapt, as Steve spoke. He had shared small tales of his home here and there, and spoken briefly of his fellow champions, but always with a hint of reluctance. Now she knew why. She gasped at his next reveal.

“It was magic that brought me here. We had given so much to defeat him, but it still wasn’t enough. He was about to…” Steve searched for words for a moment, “...to cast a spell that would have murdered an uncountable amount of people.”

“You stopped him,” Naerys said. There was no doubt in her voice.

“We did,” Steve said. “Me, Tony, Thor. We stole the thing that gave him power, and used it against him. It should have killed us. I woke up when I landed in the Narrow Sea, and was able to swim to shore.” Steve’s gaze was distant as he spoke, thinking back. A chill ran down his spine as he remembered the orange flash he had seen across the rising sun in his exhausted first moments here. It had probably just been the sun.

“And that’s when we met,” Naerys said, after a long quiet moment.

“That’s when you nursed me back to health,” Steve said. “You know how things have gone from there.”

“Do you think your friends will come for you?”

“I know they will,” Steve said. “I don’t know how long they will take, but they will come.”

“You must be close.”

“We are. We’ve been through a lot, even fought, but we all wanted the same thing.”

“Is there...someone special waiting for you at home?”

Steve let out a breath, mind going down a familiar path. “I don’t know. I hope so, but I don’t know.”

There was a long pause.

“Your story,” Naerys began, “I’ve never heard anything like it before. You could put the bards and minstrels out of business if you shared it.”

“Or get burnt at the stake,” he joked. “Although, I could probably make a few bucks by retelling famous stories from back home anyway.”

“Speaking of stories from home, you said you would share some songs with me,” Naerys said.

“I did,” Steve said, as the mood between them lightened. “Let’s get some parchment, and I’ll write down the lyrics for you.”

They spent the last of the sunlight with their heads bent together over a quill and parchment, and when that ran out, fetched candles and a pair of cloaks. Night fell, but their spirits were high, and they were content in the company of the other.

The moon had well and truly risen by the time Naerys was ready to attempt the song, holding the parchment out to catch the candlelight. Steve leaned back in his chair and listened, enjoying as a small piece of home was brought to life in this new world.

“Fly me to the moon,

Let me play among the stars…”