The Gates of the Moon had only become busier in their absence. The mass of tents outside the castle had only grown, spreading out in semi-organised chaos as it straddled the road. Soldiers of all stripes went about their business, some training, others carrying out the tasks that such a camp required to stay functional, yet more busy with doing nothing at all. All turned to watch as the mounted host of two hundred cantered down the road, Arryn and Stark banners held proudly aloft.

Lord Tully had split from their host after castle Darry, making his way back to his own stronghold, Lysa at his side. The castle had sent a rider to offer their hospitality, but they had been denied, none of the high lords wishing to slow as they reached the final stretch of their journey. Steve was glad personally; it would have been awkward to dine with the family of a man he had pulled from his horse to knee in the face.

The castle gates were thrown open wide, a triumphant horn announcing their return, and it seemed that every rider let out a sigh of relief at once, indisputably safe at last. Servants swarmed, grooms taking horses and leading the tired beasts away from the crowded yard, while Jon Arryn spoke with what looked like the steward. Brandon had ambushed his father, drawing him into a rough embrace, and now they stood talking, one hand on each other’s shoulders.

Steve’s mouth pulled back in a grimace as he saw Elbert supervise as Stannis was helped from his horse and onto a stretcher, the castle maester hurrying up to them. The young lord had taken a turn for the worse as they crossed the mountains, and the infection the barber had feared had set in.

“Ser?” Robin asked at his side.

“Right,” Steve said, drawing himself back to the present. Squires had duties, didn’t they. “See to the horses, with Toby’s help if you can find him, a groom if you can’t. Then you can go and find your Lyanna.”

Robin ducked his head, but was unable to hide his happy grin. “Aye ser.”

Steve felt the urge to tease him about it, but it was doused when he remembered he had a similar issue to address. He felt a small thrill of heat in his chest at the thought, followed swiftly by the kind of nervousness he hadn’t felt since the War, or when Bucky tried to set him up with a dame. Of course, he could always put it off and see how Keladry had gone first.

But no, that was coward talk, and of all the things Captain America had been accused of, cowardice was never one of them. Like a man girding himself for battle, he set his shoulders and made for the keep proper. He had a dame to talk with.

X

Steve’s iron determination lasted until he made it to the quarters they had been given when they first arrived, petering out just as he knocked on the door to announce his presence. Briefly, he considered fleeing to join a mountain clan, but it was already too late.

Dammit, Nat would be laughing if she could see him now.

There was a scratching at the door, and then footsteps. “Dodger, come!” said a familiar voice. The scratching stopped, and then the door began to open.

Steve was suddenly hyper aware that he hadn’t bathed since just after they had made it across the mountains. He hoped he didn’t have helmet hair.

Naerys froze as she caught sight of him. “Steve. You’re back.” She was wearing a sky blue dress, and as she tucked her fringe behind her ear, he noticed a thimble on one finger. “That is - my lord, welcome back.”

“I said I’d be back,” Steve said. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“Please, come in,” Naerys said, stepping back.

Steve clanked as he walked in, and he wondered which idiot had forgotten to doff the armour before coming here. It was him. He was that idiot.

The rooms were much as he remembered, a central receiving chamber lined with doors through which one accessed the bedrooms beyond. The table was covered in fabric and clothes, a half finished design embroidered on the chest of a dress.

“The ladies do much of their socialising and gossiping in sewing circles,” Naerys said, seeing where he was looking. “Sewing repairs wasn’t enough, so I’ve been practising.”

“Right,” Steve said, remembering that he’d asked her to make inroads with the local nobles. “How’ve you been?” He winced as soon as he said it.

“I have been well,” Naerys said, stilted.

“That’s good.”

“Yes, I…” she trailed off, before setting her shoulders. “Steve. I must apologise for the liberty I took before you departed. It was inappropriate of me, and it will not happen again.”

“I mean, I’m a big fan of Liberty,” Steve said. It took him a moment to realise what he had said, and he could feel his face drain of colour.

If Tony or Bucky ever found out, he was finished.

“Steve…?” Naerys asked, concern and cautious joy playing across her face.

“Ah, hell,” Steve said. He stepped forward, placing one hand on her hip and the other on her cheek.

Naerys’ breath quicked, and her gaze flicked between his eyes and his lips. Her tongue darted out to wet her own, small and pink. She laid a hand on the one at her hip, holding him tight. Every so slightly, she nodded.

It wasn’t his first kiss, or likely hers, but it was their first kiss, and that made it special. Lips met, hesitantly at first, but then it deepened, and each could feel the other smiling into it. Tension, long felt but gone unacknowledged, eased ever so slightly. After an eternity, or perhaps only a few seconds, their kiss ended, and they rested their foreheads against each other, eyes closed.

“Sorry for taking the liberty,” Steve said.

Naerys thumped her free hand against his breastplate, not relinquishing her hold on his arm at her hip. “Don’t you start. I’ve been stewing here since you left, fretting that I’d ruined everything.”

Steve drew back, but only so he could look at her straight. “I know I’m technically your employer, but you don’t need to worry about-”

“Not that,” Naerys said, cutting him off. Her thumb traced circles on the back of his hand. “It’s - I’ve seen your locket,” she said, downcast.

“Oh,” Steve said. He felt his smile fade. "Peggy was someone I lost. I just wasn't ready to let go of her."

“She passed?” Naerys asked gently.

“Over seven years ago,” Steve said.

They were quiet for a moment, but then Naerys snorted. “I’ve been running interference for a - a lost love,” she said.

“What?”

“You’ve turned many heads, Steve,” Naerys said. “Some of those heads tried to fall into bed with you, for various reasons.”

“When did this happen?” Steve asked. He had been accused of being dense about these things, but he wasn’t that dense.

“Harrenhal,” Naerys said, matter of fact. “An honourable, rich, handsome man with all his teeth is quite the catch.”

“Handsome, am I?” Steve asked, fixing on the part that mattered.

Naerys pinked, more than she already was. “I have eyes. Hush.” She went to lean against him, but drew back suddenly. “Ugh. When you don’t stink of the road, that is.”

“Is it that bad?” Steve asked. He went to sniff at himself, but thought better of it.

“Yes,” Naerys said with feeling, reluctantly letting go of him and stepping back. “I had a fresh bath drawn this morning that I didn’t use. I’ll reheat it while you get out of that,” she said, gesturing to him in general.

There was a moment where they were both unwilling to part, and Steve glanced down at her lips again, but then he thought of how much better it would be after a bath. The same thought seemed to occur to Naerys, and they retreated to their rooms.

His room was not as he had left it, for it now held the possessions he had left secured in the wagon they had left behind rather than haul across the mountains. Keladry must have been successful in her trip to retrieve it. His suit was folded neatly on his bed, and his plate armour was on a wooden frame by the door. Even his painting tools had been arranged, a blank canvas sitting on an A-frame waiting to be used.

Armour was dumped unceremoniously in the corner, gambeson tossed on top of it. It had served its purpose, but he had been spoiled by the comfort and protection of his suit and his custom plate, and he was glad to see the end of it. He would take care of it - have his squire take care of it later.

Naerys had left her door open, and he stuck his head in. She was kneeling by a bathtub, using tongs to push a metal tray full of coals into a slot under it. It was one of four along the base of it.

“That should heat it up quickly,” Naerys said, getting back to her feet. “I’ll just - oh.” She paused as she turned, eyes raking over him. “I’ll get a screen for you.”

Steve glanced down at himself. He still had his shirt and trousers on, and nothing was hanging out that shouldn’t be. His shirt might be a little tight, and a little thin, but it was still on.

A folding screen was pulled around the bathtub, giving Steve some privacy. The water must have still held some heat, because it was already starting to warm. Steve stripped and stepped into it, giving a relieved sigh as he sank in up to his neck.

Beyond the screen, Naerys snickered. “That bad?”

“I don’t mind bathing in a cold stream, but you can’t beat a hot bath,” Steve said. He rested his head against the rim and closed his eyes.

Naerys was quiet for a moment, and he heard a chair scraping against the floor as she brought it closer. “What happened in King’s Landing?”

Steve signed again, but this time without cheer. “It could have gone better. Worse, too.”

“You weren’t wounded,” Naerys said with certainty.

“Just a scratch across my face, but that healed already,” Steve said. “I got taken for a ride by someone playing games in the capital. I should have taken my time and stuck to my plan, but someone saw through my cover and tried to use me for their own ends.”

“Did they get what they wanted?”

“To a point,” Steve said. “But no one I was trying to protect died.”

“The capital is a pit,” Naerys said, voice pensive.

“Places of power usually are,” Steve said. There was a brush resting across the ‘corner’ of the tub, and he took it up, starting to work at the grime of the road.

“You and Robin are well, at the least,” Naerys said. “Lyanna was worried.”

“You weren’t?” Steve said, teasing.

“Shush,” Naerys said tartly. “Lyanna had staked her claim. I was merely pining.”

“Is that what that farewell kiss was?”

“Don’t make me come over there,” Naerys said.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

Naerys made a sound that could only be described as ‘steaming’. “You cad.”

“Is that any way to talk to the man courting you?”

“...is that what you intend?” Naerys asked, voice soft.

Steve swallowed as the conversation took a turn for the serious. “I’m not going to lead you on,” he said. It was easier to talk like this, with the screen, even if he was naked in the bath. “I admire you. I’m lucky that you were the first person I met after arriving here, and, well. You’re a very attractive dame.”

“Attractive, am I?” Naerys asked, throwing his earlier words back at him.

“Ma taught me never to tell a lie,” Steve said.

“Steve.”

“Naerys.”

She huffed. “You know I’m a bastard.”

“You know I don’t put stock in that.”

“It will affect your standing,” Naerys said.

“Not with anyone I’d care to know,” Steve said. “But…it could be dangerous. For you.”

“Dangerous,” Naerys said.

“I’ve made enemies,” Steve said. “I’m going to make more.”

“Then it is well that you’ve been teaching me to defend myself,” Naerys said. Her tone was pointed.

“I’m not ashamed of my uh, desire for you,” Steve said. “If you don’t-”

“Half the realm has thought us to be sharing a bed since before we arrived in King’s Landing,” Naerys said bluntly. “I think that ship has sailed.”

Steve paused in his scrubbing. “We were sharing a bed though.”

“Intimately,” Naerys said. There was the sound of someone dragging their palms down their cheeks in exasperation. “There are songs about it.”

“...songs.”

“They set one to the tune of your ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’,” Naerys said. “It is annoyingly catchy.”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Steve said.

“Likey for the best,” Naerys said.

They fell into silence for a time, as Steve cleaned himself of the road, only the sound of scrubbing and the thread and pull of Naerys’ embroidery.

“Barristan is here, too,” Steve said.

“I thought things went poorly?”

“Well, it’s likely going to be war - “

“What?”

“- but I kidnapped him and brought him back with us.”

“What?”

“Oh, and I took Robin to a brothel.”

“Steve!” The screen rattled, but she mastered herself before barging around it.

Steve laughed, but began to explain himself. He spoke of infiltrating the Keep, of speaking with Elbert, of the schemes of ‘Larys’, and of the absent Stark, of their ride away from the city and of burying the hatchet with Hayford and of acquiring his new horse. By the time he was finished, the bathwater had peaked and was beginning to cool, but he was clean.

“I leave your side for a month, and look what happens,” Naerys said.

“These things happen,” Steve said.

“Only to you.”

Steve finished scrubbing the sweat from his hair, slicking it back to rinse the water out. At least he had shaved while on the road. He got to his feet, still in the bath, and he was tall enough to look over the screen. “Could you bring me a towel?”

Naerys met his eyes over the screen. Automatically, her eyes dipped lower, but she was stymied by the barrier, for the most part. “Yes. I will do that.” She could hear him dripping into the bath as she retrieved a towel and handed it to him over the screen.

Steve was long past the days of not realising the effect he had on women, and his exposure to certain people had even taught him how to take advantage of that. An evil thought occurred to him. He dried himself off, before wrapping the towel around his waist and stepping out from behind the privacy screen.

Naerys swallowed, fighting to keep her eyes on his.

“There’s a feast tonight,” Steve said casually. “Would you join me there?”

She nodded, and in doing so her willpower failed. She glanced down, taking in the sight of him wrapped in a towel and nothing else, before wrenching her eyes back upwards. “I would like that,” she said, a blush spreading across her face.

“Great,” Steve said, saying nothing about her tomato-red face. He almost went in for a hug, but that was perhaps pushing too far.

“Great,” she almost squeaked.

“I’ll see you tonight then,” Steve said. He brushed her shoulder as he walked past, but she was almost frozen in place. A smirk made itself at home across his face, and it only grew when he heard the door shut behind him. He made his way to his own room, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

Revenge for her teasing at Riverrun was his.

X

With clean clothes and a bath he was a man refreshed, as he emerged back into the common area. He would go to see Keladry, and check in on how the men had done on their trip. It was early afternoon now, and by the time he was done there it would likely be time to prepare for the feast.

“Naerys,” he called through her still closed door. “I’m going to see how Keladry and Walt went.”

Her door opened, and she stepped through, a purpose to her stride. Three steps brought her before him, and she took him by the chin to draw him down within striking distance. Her technique was more aggressive this time, and Steve felt himself responding, taking her by the hips to hold her close.

When she pulled back, it took him a moment to regain his bearings. “What was that for?”

“Because I could,” Naerys said. “If you want to tease, you’ll suffer the consequences.”

“Suffer is a strong word-” Steve began.

“Say hello to Keladry for me,” Naerys said. “And tell her that Kelda received a reply. She’ll know what it means.” She turned and returned to her room, dress swishing in her wake.

Steve swallowed as he watched her go until the door closed. “Kelda. Reply. Right.” He shook himself, and refocused. He had business to take care of.

X

When he tracked her down, Keladry was sparring with the men they had recruited from the village - and they were men now. No longer slightly out of place, they blended in with the men-at-arms going about their tasks around them, the early stages of their training helping them to put on the right kind of muscle. Walt was watching, calling out advice and admonishment as Keladry beat down three spear wielding foes with her glaive.

They were training in a gap amongst the tents, a large square of stamped earth having been left clear. There were others sparring nearby, and plenty of men that Steve didn’t recognise as ‘his’ watching. It seemed to be a regular occurrence, her opponents fighting with practised motions and their fellows watching from the side, already sweaty.

Steve watched as Kel baited the blond man, Ed, into overextending, getting in the way of the big man to his right, Hugo. They were stymied long enough for her to crack the third, Tim, on the side of his head with the back of her glaive. He winced at the blow, rubbing at his large ear as he stepped back and away from the fight, joining the others at the side.

With only two left, it did not take long for Keladry to put them out of the fight. A pulled blow with the iron shod butt of her weapon that made every man watching wince, and a reversed ‘cut’ that would have sent guts spilling across the ground accounted for them in only a handful of seconds. Steve crossed his arms, considering. For all that he most often saw her practice with her sword, or when she trained Naerys in the blade, it was clear that her true skill lay with the polearm she wielded so adeptly.

Keladry finished speaking with the men she had defeated, telling them where they had gone wrong and how to avoid it the next time, before turning to face Steve. “Ser Rogers, welcome back,” she called. The butt of her glaive rested on the ground, but she was not leaning into it, and she was almost standing at attention.

The men scrambled to their feet, not having seen him approach, though Walt had, only giving him a nod. “Milord!”

“At ease,” Steve told them. The command wasn’t familiar to them, but they didn’t look so much like they had been caught slacking off anymore. “How have they been performing?” he asked Keladry.

The men tensed as Keladry pondered the question. “They are performing…adequately,” she said. “We ambushed and cut down a small group of bandits on our way back from their village without injury.”

“They’re not hopeless,” Walt said. He was still sitting down, whittling at a piece of wood. “But it’s a near thing.”

Whatever cheer the eight men had felt after Keladry’s words were dashed by Walt’s, and Steve didn’t allow his amusement to show on his face. Walt was going to be a useful drill instructor, if he didn’t take up that role himself.

“I suppose that’s all I can ask for,” Steve said, making sure his words were heard. “Would they survive if they went up against a knight?”

“Perhaps if they took him by surprise,” Keladry said.

Walt snorted. “A hungry hedge knight, maybe.”

“That’s not good enough, not at all,” Steve said. “We’ll have to whip them into shape.” He said it with a smile, but for some reason it made the men nervous. “Are you finished with them for now?”

“For now,” Keladry said. She looked them over. “Stack the stones, and then you’re done for the day,” she ordered.

The men groaned, but seemed to obey, taking up their spears and starting a haggard job off through the camp.

“Stack the stones?” Steve asked, watching them go.

“I had them gather stones, and stack them in a pyramid, just outside the camp,” Keladry said. “The camp keeps growing, so they have to keep moving it further away.”

“Good exercise,” Steve said. “Suicides?”

“Those too,” Keladry said. “I know you place great value on general fitness in your training.”

“Those were your idea?” Walt asked, getting to his feet and approaching. “Bastard of a thing. Good thinking.”

“Not originally,” Steve said. He looked off towards the lane they had disappeared down. For all they were enthusiastic, they were still green, even with their adventures in the mountains. “Can they fight?”

“To a point,” Keladry said. “The sword will take too long to learn, hence the spears. They’re not proper glaives, but they’ll do for now.”

“Will they need to fight?” Walt asked. He was watching Steve with a gimlet eye. “No word about how things went down south, which like as not means it went poorly.”

“I can’t say,” Steve said. Rickard and Jon planned to spread the word at the feast that night, and he didn’t plan to spread gossip in the meantime.

Walt seemed to understand, grimacing. “So that’s how it is. Didn’t think there’d be…another.”

“What is your plan, Steve?” Keladry asked.

There was no one close enough to overhead, but he lowered his voice nonetheless. “A company of one hundred men. Train them, get rid of any bad habits, and ensure they follow my orders. A mounted unit, but not a strictly cavalry force.”

Keladry absorbed that, thinking.

“Who’re you recruiting from?” Walt asked.

“Any I think have what it takes,” Steve said. “I’m looking for potential, more than existing skills.”

“Any, ye say?” Walt said.

Steve nodded. “Any. I’ll need a second in command and a drill sergeant.”

“I’m too pretty to be commanding, so I guess you want me to kick them into shape,” Walt said.

Keladry was watching him, but it was clear she had faith. “I’ve never heard tell of a company like this before,” she said.

“Hopefully the enemy won’t have either.”

“How will you recruit them?”

“Quietly,” Steve said. “We’ll go about the camp, keep an eye out for people who might have what it takes, and make them an offer. You might have noticed some people already in your time here, and I’ll speak with some lords as well.”

“What kind of men are you wanting here?” Walt asked, brow furrowed. “You could spit and hit five killers.”

“I don’t want killers,” Steve said. “I want soldiers. I don’t want men I let off a leash, I want fighters who can be given an objective and carry it out. I don’t even need trained men, just men who can be trained.”

“You’re not asking for much,” Walt said.

“In a camp this size, there’s got to be one hundred men who can become what I need them to be,” Steve said.

“We’ll find them,” Keladry said. Walt gave her a side eye, but she ignored him.

“Don’t worry about field logistics at this stage,” Steve said. “Just the men. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Aye Ser,” Keladry said. It was clear she was already thinking, turning things over in her mind.

“Think about it for now; we’ll start recruiting in earnest the day after tomorrow,” Steve said. “How have things been while I was gone?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Kel’s face, and Walt made a face.

“Eleni is intent on having Walt and Toby bond,” she said.

“That daughter of mine,” he grumbled. “She raised a right hellion. No respect for his elders.”

“I can’t imagine where he got his attitude from,” Steve said dryly.

Walt harrumphed. “She had us go fishing together. Fishing. Less said of how that went the better.”

Steve and Kel shared an amused look, and he waved them off.

“I’m glad you’re getting along well with him,” Steve said. “I know some wouldn’t make the attempt, given everything.”

“My late goodson had blond hair and blue eyes,” Walt said stubbornly. “Anyone who wants to make a comment on it knows what waits them.”

Steve looked to Kel, and she made a slicing gesture down one ear with a wince.

“Fair enough,” Steve said. “Give the men tomorrow off, and you both take it easy too. We’re going to start pushing them hard.”

“They’ll be ready,” Keladry promised. The clang and bustle of the camp around them underscored her words.

“I’m going to rest my bones then,” Walt said. “Can’t show the young’uns how it’s done otherwise.”

They watched him go, those in his path getting out of his way. Seemed that he had a bit of a reputation around the camp.

“I’ve come to realise why he wasn’t called up, despite his skill,” Keladry said.

“Because he’s old and earned his retirement?” Steve asked.

“Because he’s the second most crotchety man I’ve ever met,” Keladry said.

“Only the second?”

“Ser Wyldon was worse in many ways,” Keladry said. “Though he never used such language in his encouragement during training.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “I think he’ll be perfect for what I have in mind.”

“I will take my leave, Steve,” Keladry said. “It is good to see you again.”

“You too, Kel,” Steve said. “Oh, before you go - Naerys asked me to pass on a message to you.”

“And what did Naerys have to say to you?” Keladry asked, suddenly looking keenly interested.

“Kelda received a reply. She said you’d know what it meant,” he said.

“Oh,” Keladry said. Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t that.

“Is everything ok?” Steve asked, concerned.

“I thought about what you had said, about my grandmother,” Keladry said. She glanced around, but they still had a measure of privacy. “I sent her a letter.”

“She replied,” Steve said. “That’s good, right?”

“It depends on the contents,” Keladry said. “Naerys has been hearing whispers of trouble between Burchard and Delnaimn, and if I am to blame…”

“She’s your grandmother,” Steve said firmly. “Would she blame you?”

Keladry held back a grimace. “No,” she said. “And yet…”

“Go see Lady Kelda,” Steve said. “Did you want me to come along?”

“No, I can do this,” Keladry said. She let out a breath, and restored the calm bearing she usually wore. “I will do this.”

“Then I’ll see you tonight at the feast,” Steve said. “Rickard and Jon are making an announcement. Or a declaration, I’m not sure.”

Keladry nodded her assent. “I will be there. But, Steve - Naerys?”

Steve smiled innocently. “She’ll be there too, I figure.”

Minutely, she narrowed her eyes at him, but he just kept smiling.

“Give my regards to Lady Kelda,” Steve said, turning to take his leave. He could feel her eyes boring into his back until he turned a corner down the lane, but it was worth it.

X

There was still some time to spare before he needed to think about preparing for the feast, and Steve decided to take care of something he’d lacked the chance to do properly since fleeing King’s Landing. He knew Robin was doing alright in general, but having a proper talk with the kid wouldn’t hurt, and the ride had been too hurried and busy to allow for it.

Robin was in the second place he checked, the castle archery butts. It was a large yard, surrounded by stone walls. He was the only one there, methodically loosing arrows at his target. Steve approached, letting his feet scrape loudly on the ground, but kept his silence while Robin worked through his quiver. He wasn’t firing at one of the painted targets, but at a familiar ring, made of reed and suspended from a pole extending from one. It danced lightly in the cool breeze.

“You’re getting better at that,” Steve said, as the final arrow was fired.

“I’m still not as good as the two who bested me at Harrenhal,” Robin said. He began to approach the targets to retrieve his arrows.

Steve followed. “Fletcher Dick is supposed to be the best, anyway.”

Robin stumbled. “Fletcher - what?!”

“Oh, I didn’t mention that, did I,” Steve said. “Richard was Fletcher Dick in disguise. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Wasn’t he outlaw?” Robin asked.

“Maybe, but he wasn’t an evil man,” Steve said. They came to the target, and he helped the kid pull his arrows free. “So don’t be so hard on yourself. There’s always a bigger fish.”

“I suppose losing to Fletcher Dick isn’t so bad,” Robin said, working at an arrow embedded in the wooden frame of the target.

“You’re improving, too,” Steve said. “You got more than half the shots I saw through that ring there.”

“I could be better,” Robin muttered, but he didn’t seem as down on himself.

“Sure,” Steve said. “But there’s not many who could have pulled off the shots you did at the Red Keep.”

Robin ducked his head, but stood a little straighter.

“Your first mission was a bit exciting,” Steve said as they began to walk back to the firing line. “How’re you holding up?”

“They weren’t bandits, or mountain clansmen,” Robin said. “The gold cloaks, I mean. But…they were trying to kill you and the others.”

“You remember what I said, back on the way to Harrenhal?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” Robin said, nodding. “I stopped them because they were trying to kill you, not because I wanted to kill them.”

Steve was quiet as Robin began to shoot again, complicated thoughts of child soldiers and different worlds whirling across his mind. He watched two arrows skim past the ring, and a third go through it. “If you decide you don’t want to fight, you say so, and you won’t have to,” he said.

Robin’s shot went wildly off course, ending up in the target the next lane over. “I can fight! I’ll be a fine squire.”

“I know,” Steve said, raising his hand. “I know you can. I’m just saying that you don’t have to.”

“Right,” Robin said, calming slightly. He looked around furtively. “Is this about where you come from?”

“You’re still a kid,” Steve said. “In my home, if someone your age was fighting a war, things have gone horribly wrong.”

“I’m almost a man grown,” Robin said, in the tone of people the world over who were certainly not grown men.

“Uh huh,” Steve said. “Can you draw that bow of mine yet?”

“That’s not fair,” Robin said. He loosed another arrow, finding his mark again as the reed ring bounced in the wind. “Few men could.”

“Sounds like something a kid would say.”

“Oi.”

Steve tousled his hair. “How’s Lyanna? I haven’t seen her yet.”

“How’s Naerys?” Robin shot back, ducking away from his hand. “Yeah, Lyanna told me all about that.”

“I asked you first,” Steve said. “I don’t need to give the pair of you another Talk, do I?” Robin was decades too young to pick that kind of fight with him.

Robin paled. “No, never.”

“So?”

“She is well,” Robin said, nocking an arrow. “She made friends with the castle servants, like you asked. She said nothing major happened, among them at least.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Steve said. “We won’t be staying here forever.”

“Where are we going?” Robin asked, turning a hungry look on Steve. “Are we marching on King’s Landing with the army?”

Steve shook his head. “They’re going to make an announcement tonight, but we’ll be making for Storm’s End with Stannis. He needs to get home, and I think that is where we can do the most good.”

“But someone is marching on King’s Landing, right?” Robin asked.

“Eventually, I imagine so,” Steve said. “Why?”

“Sacks don’t go well for the people in the city,” Robin said. He fiddled with his bow string. “My family…”

“If the city is besieged, I’ll give you the men and you can protect them yourself,” Steve said.

“Aren’t there barely a dozen of us sworn to you?” Robin asked.

“For now,” Steve said. “There will be more.”

“Thank you, Ser,” Robin said. He fired his last arrow, and it soared through the ring, dead centre.

“You’re one of my people,” Steve said simply.

Their talk turned to lighter topics, Steve giving what advice he could, picked up from Clint, but Robin was mostly beyond his skill to teach in this matter. The kid appreciated it still, and the afternoon passed, knight and squire counting it time well spent. When the time came to prepare for the evening’s festivities, Robin’s bow arm was sore, and Steve was plotting ways to properly prepare him for what was to come.

If he had anything to say about it, he was going to make damn sure the kid survived the brewing conflict.

X

The feast was gay and merry, the hall filled to bursting. Lord Arryn had spared no expense, even hiring minstrels and players in an act that many whispered was uncharacteristic of him. Lords from all across the Vale were present, from minor knightly houses to Arryn branches, but there was a sharpness to their discussions, present beneath the cheer. Word had spread of the events in the south, and all knew that the feast was merely a prelude for a more important announcement. The still gathering army outside the castle walls was a looming implication if nothing else.

Lord Arryn had the place of honour at the high table, and Lord Stark was to his left. On either side of them were their heirs, Elbert and Brandon, and to Elbert’s right was Yohn Royce. Steve found himself sitting to Brandon’s left, closer to the centre of attention than he was comfortable with, but well accustomed to. It was a militant table, with the female family members who would usually be present relegated to a lower table together. Stannis was absent entirely.

Steve kept half an eye on Naerys and Robin, but they had been sat near Lady Kelda, and it seemed that Naerys had made a few connections of her own in the time he had been gone. There would be no repeat of the feast at Harrenhal here.

In time, the feasting came to an end, and servants filtered through the hall, placing new kegs and jugs on the tables. The dull roar of the hall began to fade, and an expectant air fell over the feasters.

Jon Arryn stood. He made no gesture for silence, but still it came, and he surveyed his hall with a steely gaze. “My lords,” he said into the sudden quiet. “I am thankful you are here with us this night. Thankful that you have broken bread with me and mine, and thankful that despite whatever minor disagreements we might have with others in this hall, all still hold true to the bonds of brotherhood. As High As Honour!”

“High As Honour!” came the rumbled response.

“Some short months ago, I received an honour from the king,” Jon continued. “Elbert, my heir, was invited to King’s Landing as a guest to His Grace. I was not the only one so honoured; Lord Baratheon his brother, Lord’s Stark and Tully their daughters likewise were honoured. But we were deceived.”

Many in the hall were leaning in now, intent on the words of their lord.

“The truth became clear when Lyanna Stark’s escort was murdered, and she abducted. This was no offer of friendship, but a grab for hostages. The heirs and daughters of loyal Wardens and Lord Paramounts threatened by a king who had already driven away his greatest supporter.”

Dark rumblings came from the hall now.

“When you answered my call to muster, I told you that I did not expect so much as a skirmish to be fought,” Jon continued. “I was wrong. When Lord Stark, Lord Tully, and myself demanded the return of his hostages, King Aerys demanded our heads.”

Uproar. The hall descended into a furor, lords shouting at each other, at the high table, or simply to be heard. Jon waited, staring down at his lords, but they showed no signs of calming.

Brandon lost his patience swiftly. He stood, seizing a small brass cauldron that had held soup, before raising it up to hurl it at the stone floor. It collided with a mighty clash and clatter, denting with the force. All turned to him and he glared out at them, a cold anger in his dark eyes. When he was sure he had their attention, he deliberately turned back to Jon.

“He demanded our heads,” Jon repeated, “even as he threatened unspeakable punishment for Lyanna Stark. Had he still possessed the other hostages, he would have done the same to them. It is thanks only to the cunning and bravery of Lord America that my nephew sits beside me this night, and that his head does not decorate a pike on the Red Keep. It is thanks to him that Lady Lysa Tully does not face the same dishonourable threats that Lady Lyanna does.” He stopped for a moment, looking to Steve. “Rarely do we see a knight hold so true to the oaths of chivalry, and for this I thank you.” He took up his goblet and raised it towards him.

Hundreds of eyes turned to Steve, and he put on his distant-but-reassuring-it-was-my-duty-and-I’d-do-it-again look. He inclined his head, raising his own goblet in return. The gesture was mirrored through the hall by hundreds, and he caught a glimpse of Naerys and Robin, both smiling with pride.

“The King dismissed our complaints, answering only with threats. Despite provocation, we have raised no sword against him, even in our flight from the Crownlands. I held out hope for a peaceful resolution, but upon my return today, I was met by a raven,” Jon said. The hall might hear a pin drop, and though not all were in clear agreement, all were enthralled. “The King demands not only my head, but that of my nephew. He demands Lord Stark’s head, and that of his son’s. He demands Lord Baratheon’s head, and that of his brother’s, already gravely wounded in his escape from the Red Keep. He demands all this, because he holds a single hostage. I ask you, my lords, if given this, what will he do next? What privileges will he demand?”

“The King has broken his own Peace,” Rickard said, voice dark and low, but heard through the hall. “House Stark will not bare our necks to one who does not hold to his oaths. We march to war.”

There was apprehension now, but there seemed to be no unity to it. Some had worried at the demands of the king, others when they heard that the northmen were marching south.

“I was wrong when I told you this muster would be bloodless,” Jon said, cutting through the growing murmurs. “But I must call you to stand with House Arryn all the same. The Vale stands with the North, as do the Riverlands and the Stormlands. For the insult given to us, and the threats levied against our families, our honour demands no less.” He set his jaw, and took a breath. “Aerys is unfit to be King.”

“That is the decision of the Seven,” a voice objected.

“The Seven have shared their wisdom with us, and it is up to us to act on it,” Jon responded. “The crimes of Aerys are numerous and severe, but I understand that a wise man requires proof before action.” He flicked his gaze to a small door to his right, and the servant waiting by it, who opened it swiftly. “I present to you a witness whose word is beyond question - Ser Barristan Selmy.”

If the hall had been on the verge of boiling before, that revelation set it over the edge. The Kingsguard entering the hall saw many lords almost bullrush the man in their haste to question him, while many more fell to bickering with their fellows, while others simply sat in silence, deep in thought. All around the hall conversations and debates broke out, and Jon returned to his seat.

“That ought to set the shadowcat amongst the goats,” Rickard said.

“We must hope it will be enough,” Jon said, voice tight. “If we can’t persuade them, we may have to surrender the initiative in the north.”

“You think it a risk?” Elbert asked.

“I think even had he slain you, some would have remained loyal,” Jon said.

“Loyalists would be isolated,” Rickard said, carefully making no suggestion.

“I won’t strike the first blow against Houses that have been loyal until now,” Jon said. “Nor will I do as Aerys has and demand hostages.”

“It’s Hoster that will bear the brunt,” Rickard said.

Jon gave a hnn, but said no more, as the first of many lords began to approach with questions.

Steve was watched closely, but not approached, most lords preferring to speak directly to their liege lord, though some spoke with Rickard or Elbert as well. Instead, he watched the hall, observing the ebb and flow between the lords. There were many small groups that formed and dispersed, but three in particular caught his eye. The first was the group around Barristan, almost hemming him in with their questioning, kept back only by their respect for him. Another was an argumentative pack of lords, not on the verge of blows, but certainly spirited in their discussions. The third was centred around Kelda’s sister, Cynthea Arryn, Kelda herself, and what looked like most of the wives and daughters who had gathered together while the men spoke of war and rebellion. Naerys was amongst them too, answering the questions directed towards her.

Rising from his chair, Steve approached Barristan, or rather, the scrum around him. The man wasn’t exactly in danger of being overwhelmed, but it was clear that those questioning him weren’t quite getting the answers they wanted.

“...cannot answer that without betraying my oaths.”

“As you’ve said,” a lord said, somewhat testily.

“What can you answer without betraying your oaths?”

“I must keep the King’s secrets,” Barristan said.

“Why did you come to bear witness if you cannot speak of what you saw?” someone asked, frustrated.

Barristan caught a glimpse of Steve neary, and a hint of wry amusement slipped through his serious expression. “I came because Lord America knocked me out in a duel for Lyanna Stark’s freedom and absconded with me.”

“...Lord America abducted you?” a lord asked, incredulous.

“I’d call it more spoils of war,” Steve said, making his presence known. They were clustered almost against the wall, in line with the high table to the right. Many of the questioners stepped away, giving him space and opening up a path to the Kingsguard. “Aerys refused to hand over Lyanna unless I killed Barristan, and that wasn’t the right thing to do, so I didn’t.”

Eyes shot back to Barristan. “Is this true?” someone asked.

“Aye, it is true,” Barristan said.

“So you can answer that, but not whether the King took her?” someone further back asked.

“The duel took place before the walls of the city,” Barristan said. “It was not a secret.”

“Can you tell us what you saw before our duel?” Steve asked.

Barristan considered for a moment. “A force of three hundred approached the city, led by Lord Arryn, Stark, and Tully. They demanded the return of Lyanna Stark. His Grace demanded that of the three of them and Lord America, two give themselves up to be executed and the other two surrender their heirs as hostages.”

Dark mutters came from the crowd.

“America challenged His Grace for her release, and he chose me as his champion,” Barristan continued. “I was defeated. I woke up later, strapped to a horse, riding north.”

“Aerys claimed that the conditions of the duel would not be honoured because it was a duel to the death,” Steve said. “After his behaviour to the point, I didn’t trust him to honour his word.”

It was still strange to him, how much of a reaction the ‘h’ word got here, as lords shook their heads and wore grim expressions.

“Lord Arryn told us you retrieved his heir and the other hostages,” a young man asked, trying to hold back his eagerness. “But could you tell of how you achieved that?”

Steve had a feeling the question was driven more by a desire to hear of adventure than because it was required to shed light, but he went with it. “I knew the hostages were in the Red Keep, but I also knew that I wouldn’t be permitted to see them any more than they’d be permitted to leave. I infiltrated the Keep, and made contact…” He told an abbreviated story of his rescue of the hostages, being vague about the contact that got him through the gates and leaving out the way he had gotten in the first time entirely. The tale was still appreciated, and Steve caught Barristan looking faintly nostalgic at times as he told it.

As the tale came to an end, he saw a range of expressions around him. Many were outraged, some were considering, others frowning.

“Nearly a repeat of Duskendale, Ser,” one older lord said to Barristan.

“Aye,” Barristan said. “Nearly.”

“Three hostages were retrieved through guile,” one said, “why not the last?”

“Because the King still wants our lord’s head,” another replied. His tone implied idiocy on the part of the first.

“So we negotiate,” an elderly man said.

“Aerys can’t be trusted with guests, you think he can be trusted to rule?”

“Aerys isn’t the only Targaryen.”

They fell to bickering once more, but this time Barristan wasn’t the centre of it, and the man gave him a grateful smile.

“I know I’m not from around these parts,” Steve said, cutting short the argument, “but I know a thing or two about loyalty. You’ve got a tough decision before you - do you stay loyal to your king, or to your liege lord?” He swept his gaze around the small crowd, meeting their eyes. “Oaths of fealty go both ways. If someone expects you to give them everything but gives you nothing in return, then that oath is dust in the wind. Look at how each man has treated those under them, and you’ll know what decision to make.”

There were many pensive faces in the wake of his words, and the crowd did not linger long after. There were still some small discussions and disagreements, but they kept to themselves, clearly sensing the shift in mood. For a short moment, Steve and Barristan stood alone.

“You doing alright there, Barristan?” Steve asked.

“Well enough,” Barristan said. “My oaths…I must keep to them. If I were to break them, I would be reduced, in my eyes and in others’.”

Steve nodded, remembering their conversation on the topic.

“But…I find it is more and more my oaths compelling me, rather than my personal loyalty,” Barristan said.

“Fine line to walk,” Steve said, non-committal.

“It is strange, knowing that a war is brewing and I will likely not fight in it,” Barristan said.

“Maybe you could pick up a hobby,” Steve suggested. “Seems like you’ve been pretty busy before now.”

“Perhaps,” Barristan said. He spied more approaching lords. “Back to it, it would seem.”

“I’ll leave you be then,” Steve said. “Good luck.”

Barristan scoffed, but nodded to him, and Steve returned to the high table.

The group of ladies had dispersed, many going to calm their husbands or fathers, and the knot of arguing lords had eased, splitting in two. One group was larger than the other, and seemed to be ignoring one another. The night went on, lords and ladies politicking and jockeying for position, only most of it around the recent upheaval thrust upon them. Steve kept to himself, speaking only with those who approached him. Of those who did, it was just as often a question about his time at Harrenhal than it was the rather more important topic at hand. One lord and lady even questioned him about his painting.

As guests retired, paying their respects to Lord Arryn on their way, it felt like little had been decided, and that it would take something more to settle the matter one way or another. There would be more discussions on the following day, and in the days to come, but for every day spent getting their homes in order, the King would have time to raise his own forces.

That night, several lords departed in the dark, making for their own castles.

X x X

The next morning, Steve found himself with a self-appointed day of rest to spend as he saw fit. It would be his last for a while, and he wanted to make the most of it. The day was a good one, with clear skies save for the occasional white cloud, and only a gentle breeze. The castle was abuzz with low intrigue as the lords met for hunts and the ladies held salons, but that was none of Steve’s business. Instead, he gathered up his painting equipment in the satchel he had for them, slung the A-frame easel over one shoulder, and left the castle behind entirely after breakfast.

He was seen leaving by any who cared to watch, and that was before hiking along the road that led to the castle, past the army camp and out into the fields. It seemed his reputation was spreading however, as the sight of a man walking out through an army with only painting tools was met with interest, not confusion. It took him the better part of half an hour at a steady hike to find a suitable spot, just in the beginnings of the foothills, but in the end he was satisfied. The army camp sprawled out before the Gates of the Moon, banners drifting in the wind and the mountains rising behind them. Hidden amongst the peaks was the white stone of the Eyrie itself, just visible to those with eyes keen enough to see it. He wouldn’t complete his painting in a morning, but he would do enough to continue later, and remember enough to do it right. He breathed in deeply, the cool mountain air and the scent of mountain flowers filling his nose, and got to work.

The day warmed as the sun rose, and Steve moved from a charcoal outline of his vision to filling in swathes with paint. He had decided to aim for the same sense of realism he had achieved in his gift to Ned and Ashara, given how well that one had been received. Maybe he’d kick off a bit of an artistic revolution too, if he was lucky. He didn’t like to think of himself as an art snob, but some of the art he’d seen was kind of bleh.

Now and then a rider would pass him, even off the road as he was. Some of them seemed to be on official business, only slowing enough to greet him, but others seemed to have come out specifically to speak with him, for all that they pretended to be just passing by. They were just as interested in his painting as they were in ‘Lord America’s Ride’ as they were calling his first flight from King’s Landing, so he supposed it wasn’t too much of a burden.

By the time the sun was approaching its zenith, he had the foundations of a painting he might come to be proud of, and a hunger in his belly. He began to pack away his paints, noting that some of them were more than half finished, and started to make his way back to the castle. He felt calm and relaxed. His day off was already on to a great start.

X

“A burger?” the cook asked, looking up from the roast he was preparing with a confused frown. “I’m not familiar, m’lord. Do you have the recipe?”

“It’s like a sandwich, only -” Steve cut himself short at the same blank look in the cook’s eyes. “Hmm. Do you mind if I look through your storeroom?”

The cook hesitated, but only for a moment. “I’ll have my boy show you the way. Frederick!”

And make sure he didn’t mess anything up, Steve bet. A brown haired boy of about ten peeling carrots looked up at the cook’s call.

“Show Lord America to the storeroom. He wants to see if we can make something from his homeland,” the cook said.

The kitchens were busy making lunches, but Frederick weaved amongst the hustle with the ease of long practice, and Steve did the same for all that servants tried to clear the way for him. The storeroom was both easy to access, but also impossible to get to without being seen by anyone working in the kitchens. Shelves upon shelves of victuals of all kinds lined the walls, ready to be used and refilled from larders and granaries.

“What do you need, m’lord?” Frederick asked.

“I just had a hankering for a burger, but…huh,” Steve said, spying something in the corner. There was more variety here than he was expecting, but then this was the kitchen of a high lord. His eyes flicked to the boy. “How much am I allowed to take here?”

“You’re a guest of m’lord Arryn,” Frederick protested. “We can make any meal you ask for. You won’t go hungry.”

“But you wouldn’t get in trouble if I took, say, that whole jar of salt?” Steve asked.

“Nnnoooo,” the boy said.

Steve gave him a look.

“No m’lord,” he said again, more confidently.

“What about that rosemary?” Steve didn’t wait for an answer, walking about the room, inspecting this and that ingredient.

Frederick gave a helpless shrug, at a loss.

Steve found something that might have been a pot or a cake tray. It was made of metal, and was shallow and broad, with handles on each end. He took it, along with a large stew pot, and began to fill the pot with ingredients that caught his eye; a wheel of cheese here, a few loaves of bread there.

“Where could I get a few cuts of meat?” Steve asked.

“You’ll want the butcher, m’lord,” Frederick said. “But, Da can take care of all o’ that.” He watched as Steve snagged a bundle of onions.

“Nah,” Steve said. An idea was brewing in his head, and he found he liked it more than just having a quick burger made for him. “I need you to do a few things for me, Frederick…”

X

By chance, they ran into Lyanna on the way to their destination, and she slowed as she saw them.

“Steve…?”

“Lyanna,” Steve said. “Have you seen the others recently?”

She looked up from the range of equipment he, Frederick, and another servant he’d shanghaied were carrying. “I was just going to see Robin.”

“Could you invite him and the others to lunch? We’re going to set up in the inner yard.”

“Of course, Ser,” Lyanna said, recovering her usual poise.

“If they’re busy, that’s fine,” Steve said.

Lyanna gave him a look, and he raised his free hand in surrender. “We’ll see you there,” she said.

They went their separate ways, Steve humming a tune with good cheer. Those they passed gave them a second and third look, and he couldn’t quite blame them. It wasn’t every day you saw a lord and two servants traipsing through the halls with what they were carrying, after all. Large as the castle was, it did not take them long to reach their destination.

The inner yard of the castle wasn’t as picturesque as the godswood at the Red Keep or Riverrun, but it was pleasant enough, and was pointed out to him as the most likely place for a picnic when he had asked. Within were a number of trees, and even a small pond. It wasn’t a picnic that it hosted today, however.

“Alright,” Steve said. “We’ll set up in the shade.” He set his burden down thankfully; it hadn’t been too heavy, just awkward, and a light wooden table was placed next to it. Frederick planted the stew pot he carried on it with a huff of exertion.

“What now, m’lord?” the boy asked.

“Hand me that bucket of coals,” Steve said, inspecting the object he’d found in the storeroom. He hadn’t expected to find anything like a crude barbecue there. It was more like a small metal table than anything, waist high and with a kind of shelf under it that was open on the front and one side. A metal bucket with coals pilfered from the kitchen was handed to him by the other servant, and he was able to pour them out onto the shelf, spreading them with a gentle toss. Then, he turned to the ingredients on the table, taking them out of the stew pot and sorting them.

The two servants exchanged a look, standing around awkwardly as a lord did prep work.

“How can we help, m’lord?” the older servant asked.

“Oh, sorry,” Steve said, looking up from the packets of meat he was setting aside, covered in cloth. “I need some more wood for the barbecue, and we should probably have something to drink.”

“Perhaps I can take care of the work here while Frederick shows you to the wine cellars?” the man suggested.

“You’d know more about good wine or ale than me,” Steve said, frowning as he realised he was missing something. “Actually, I need a few other things.”

The hapless helpers exchanged another look, realising that they hadn’t just been commandeered by a noble who wanted his food cooked for him somewhere inconvenient. They buried their dismay with the ease that came from long practice, listening to his instructions. At least it wasn’t scrubbing pots.

X

Steve hummed to himself as he finished his preparations. He had plates, he had cups, cutlery, kegs, and the barbecue was heated nicely with a steady bed of coals keeping it that way. He dropped a small hunk of fat on it and spread it around with a knife as it melted, before sprinkling a few pinches of salt around, and scattering some rosemary after it. An enticing scent rose, and he hadn’t even slapped the meat on yet.

“You guys hungry?” he asked the two servants who had helped him carry out his whim.

The two of them shared a look where they stood to the side. They seemed to do a lot of that. “We eat later, after the lunch rush,” the older of the two said.

“That’s not what I asked,” Steve said, glancing up at the sky. It was getting on to early afternoon.

They remained silent, but he saw the way their eyes flicked to the steaks like they’d never seen them before. To be fair, the butcher had squinted at him too when he’d asked for them.

“I’ll throw some on for you,” Steve decided. The fat on the grill was sizzling nicely, and it only got better when he began to lay the steaks on. Someone’s stomach rumbled.

As if summoned by the scent, Robin, Lyanna, Toby, and another pair of boys barreled out of a door across the yard. They were roughhousing, and Lyanna tapped one of the other boy’s ankles just so to send him stumbling, but the boy recovered and gave her a smirk. Steve saw the moment they smelt the sizzling meat in truth, as they all paused, their heads rotating as one towards the scent. Steve threw another few steaks on.

“What are you cooking?” Robin asked, as the five of them trooped over. He glanced at the two boys Steve didn’t know. “Ser.”

“Burgers,” Steve said, taking up a knife and cutting a loaf of bread into slices. Once done, he grabbed an onion and started doing the same.

“Burgers?” Toby asked. “What’s burgers?”

“A burger,” Steve said, “is a meal unto itself, best enjoyed with friends and a cold drink.” He made his way through three onions with a speed and surety that would put the best five finger fillet players to shame. “Technically, this will be a sandwich, but I couldn’t find a beef grinder, and I want a burger.”

Yet more glances were exchanged, but he would show them the way. He moved on to the wheel of cheese, carving out generous slices.

“Is this from your homeland?” Lyanna asked.

“It is,” Steve said. “I don’t have all the ingredients I’d really like to do things properly, but we’ve got enough to make do,” he said, gesturing to the few heads of lettuce and the bowl of mushrooms rounding out his options on the table. “No tomatoes, unfortunately.”

The steaks continued to sizzle as his audience watched him prepare, portioning out what he had prepared onto slices of bread. He inspected their progress with a critical eye, and nodded to himself. Each steak was flipped with ease, using the knife, and a slice of cheese placed on them to melt.

“You want to be careful you don’t overcook your steak,” Steve said, falling into a familiar routine with his audience. “If the centre is more cooked than pink, you’ve left it on too long.”

“How do you tell?” one of the boys asked. They had the look of squires.

“How do you tell how hard to hit someone in a spar?” Steve asked them. “Practice. Or you can cut it at the thickest part to check.” He did so, revealing that the steak was just short of medium rare. They were almost done, and he unstacked the wooden cups, pouring out water for Toby and Frederick, some very watered down wine for the rest of the kids, and plain wine for the older servant. The man took it with thanks, almost looking over his shoulder.

It did not take long to finish, and Steve plated the steaks one by one, keeping the one he had cut into for himself, and handed them out. He was thanked a bit more profusely than he thought was warranted, but that was secondary to the hunger he’d worked up cooking. He took a bite of his burger, and gave a nod. The others watched how he ate it, and followed suit.

“Ish sho ghud,” Toby said, as a cautious bite turned into an all out attack.

Steve grinned at the kid’s reaction. “Don’t forget to chew.”

Toby didn’t respond, too busy eating, though he did slow down. For a time, there was no conversation, though the two squires kept stealing looks at Steve.

“Ser America,” the stockier of the two squires asked, once he’d worked up his courage, “is it true you defeated Ser Barristan for a second time?”

“It is,” Steve said.

“Would you tell us of it?” the taller squire asked excitedly. “Robin regaled us, but he was some distance away, he says.”

Robin did not blush, though the tips of his ears were burning.

“You want to know about my second duel with Barristan?” Steve asked, considering. Barristan was set on keeping his mouth shut to maintain his honour, but it didn’t sit right with him that people would view the duel as Steve beating him in a fight. He didn’t always have the best grasp on what the locals would view as ‘honourable’, though in this case it seemed pretty clear cut. If anyone thought Barristan’s actions were dishonourable, they weren’t the type of people whose opinion he would care about. “There wasn’t one.”

Robin’s head jerked up from his meal, and the squires glanced at him, confused. Steve chewed slowly, thinking on how to explain it. As he thought, four more figures entered the yard from a nearby door - Keladry and Kelda Waynwood were first, but Naerys and Cynthea Arryn were behind them. Steve’s thoughts skipped a beat as he met Naerys’ eyes, and he wasn’t able to stop from smiling. An answering smile stole across her face as she spoke with Cynthea, and it was a struggle to haul his mind back on track.

“When I fought Barristan at Harrenhal, he opened the fight with a particular move. He used the exact same move at King’s Landing,” Steve said.

“He tried a move that hadn’t worked once before?” the stocky squire asked, frowning. “Why…?”

“He knew I would recognise it,” Steve said. “Barristan was prepared to die if it meant Lyanna Stark would be set free.”

The four women joined them, just in time to hear his words. Their interest sharpened, their own conversation put on hold.

“Ser Selmy gave up?” the taller squire blurted.

“He didn’t give up,” Steve said. “He did what he thought was right. He couldn’t go against the king, but he couldn’t go against his oath to the Maiden either.”

“But that’s-” the boy stopped, unable to put his thoughts into words.

“Oaths are only as strong as the one swearing them,” Steve said. He looked between the two squires whose names he didn’t know, and his own. “If you give your word for something, you need to keep it.” His gaze went distant, remembering some of his own promises.

“Well said, Lord America,” Cynthea said. “I know my husband would agree with you.”

“Ladies,” Steve said, turning to them as the squires digested what he had told them. “Keladry. May I interest you in a burger?”

Cynthea was taken aback, but only for a moment. “I had not expected - yes, I think you may,” she said.

“Had I known you were cooking, I would have come faster,” Naerys said, smoothing her dress. Steve fought the urge to look away like a kid with a crush, but found his eyes dipping to her lips instead. She noticed, and smirked.

“The nights that Lord Steve cooked on our journey through the mountains were the most anticipated,” Kelda told her sister.

“Steve spends more on spices for a trip than some do on guards,” Keladry said.

“Given his reputation, I think we can see why,” Cynthea said, voice dry.

Steve had another four steaks on the barbecue, already seasoned with salt and rosemary. “Good food is worth the trouble,” he said. “I’ll do the same when I take my company to war, too.”

“You mean to take your men into battle?” Kelda asked. Her tone was deliberately polite. “Eleni had told me they were recruited from her home village.”

"By the time we reach the Stormlands, they'll be well trained, as will the others," Steve said.

“Others?” Kelda asked, at the same time Cynthea asked, “Stormlands?”

“I’m recruiting a company and training them in my own style,” Steve said. “We’ll deploy to the Stormlands if things go to plan.” He shifted to the table, slicing more bread.

Cynthea took a moment to ponder her answer. “I would be more than happy to host Lady Naerys while you are off to war - that is, if you have not already made arrangements?.”

Naerys pressed her lips together, looking very much like she wanted to say something.

“Naerys will be coming with us,” Steve said, glancing at his new flame. The look on her face told him he hadn’t misstepped. “I appreciate the offer though.”

“You would take a lady to war with you?” Cynthea asked, brows rising.

“I’d take a skilled quartermaster to war with me,” Steve said.

“Even so,” Cynthea said. “War is no safe place for a lady.”

Steve deliberately avoided looking at Kelda and Keladry as they shifted minutely. “War isn’t safe for anyone,” he said.

“I’m as safe with Steve as I am in near any castle without him,” Naerys said, keeping her tone respectful.

The door across the yard that the kids had entered through opened again, admitting two men and a white dog. It was Elbert and Brandon, with Dodger at their heels.

“...the offer remains, should you change your mind,” Cynthea said, closing the topic as the men approached.

“Thanks,” Steve said. The steaks were done to his eye, so he began to plate them for the ladies, and Robin was quick to offer to fill a cup for each of them.

The ladies had seen how the kids had eaten the burgers, and they followed suit, some more delicately than others.

Kelda made a noise of appreciation. “With food like this, you will have little trouble finding recruits,” she said.

“You plan to recruit your men through food?” Brandon asked as he and Elbert reached them. “Father told me of your plans.” His nose twitched. “You know, I think it might work.”

Dodger placed a paw on Steve’s knee, looking up with soulful eyes.

“Where did you find this troublemaker?” Steve asked, scratching the dog behind the ears.

“Begging for scraps in the feast hall,” Elbert said. “He ate better than some men out in the camp, I’d wager. What are those?” He was looking at the burgers his cousins were eating.

“Secret recipe from home,” Steve said. “You want one?”

They nodded, and Steve put on more steaks. There were only a few left, and he caught the eye of the older servant, pointing at what remained, and he took his meaning, ducking off in search of more. Sensing that he likely wouldn't have any luck with Steve, Dodger trotted off to sniff at Toby’s hands, licking at them. Eager for an excuse not to stand and listen to the adults, the kids drew the dog away from the barbecue, and were soon engaged in a game of keepaway with a stick. Frederick looked after them with longing, not yet having mastered the look of blank politeness that was so common amongst servants here, until Steve caught his eye and jerked his head towards the game. The boy only hesitated long enough to ensure he had taken Steve’s meaning, and then he dashed off, joining in.

“How fares the muster?” Keladry asked.

Elbert and Brandon grimaced as one.

“Lord Corbray departed in the evening, after the feast,” Elbert said. “Took what men he had with him.”

“He wasn’t the only one,” Brandon said. His lip curled until he smoothed his expression.

Steve sliced more cheese as he thought. It seemed that Rickard’s predictions were coming true. “You think they’ll stay loyal to the king?”

“Loyal or ambitious, the result is the same,” Cynthea said. “I’m more concerned about the absence of Lord Grafton.”

“Grafton?” Steve asked.

“They rule Gulltown,” Elbert said. He watched curiously as Steve flipped the steaks, setting off a new round of sizzling. “If they show themselves to be loyalists, we will be forced to take the city.”

“Could cause some trouble for Stannis getting back to the Stormlands,” Steve said, frowning as he shredded some lettuce. “He mentioned leaving from Gulltown.”

“Stannis…he might not be making for Gulltown soon, no matter Grafton’s loyalties,” Brandon said, a grim set to his mouth.

“Oh dear,” Cynthea said. She looked like she wanted to press her hand to her mouth, but she was still occupied with her burger.

“What happened?” Steve asked.

“The maester is greatly worried about his wound,” Elbert said. “There was talk of amputation.”

“Damn.”

“He would be crippled,” Keladry said. “Any hopes he had of fighting in battle would be lost.” For once, her controlled expression faltered, the thought of being so injured clearly affecting her.

“Aye,” Brandon said, “but if it’s his leg or his life…”

Steve clenched his jaw as he remembered the trap he had fallen for, how his fingers had just brushed the fletching of the arrow that might cost Stannis his leg. Every time he was too slow, people suffered…he pushed the self recriminating thoughts from his mind. “Stannis is a tough kid. He’ll pull through.”

“No doubt,” Brandon said. “Baratheons are strong; my father wouldn’t have allowed just anyone to marry my sister.”

Rather than speak his thoughts on arranged marriages, Steve focused on the barbecue, listening as the nobles discussed this or that marriage, and how the impending war might change things. Naerys drifted away from the conversation, her gaze on him as he worked, and he quirked an eyebrow at her as he finished another set of burgers. She only smiled, watching him work.

“I like your dress,” Steve said. It was a faint shade of blue, and not one he had seen before. “You make it look good.”

Naerys swept her skirts out to one side, showing it off. “Thank you,” she said. She glanced at the others, seeing that they were deep in conversation, and leaned in. “I sewed a hidden pocket into it such that you could draw a water dancer’s sword from it.”

“Sounds handy,” Steve said, taking a long look at the lines of the dress, purely for a sword, of course. “Are you wearing yours now?”

“No,” Naerys said. “My short sword isn’t quite right for it, and I would need a special sheath made.” Her smile took on a more mischievous set. “I have a dagger on my thigh instead.” She smoothed her dress to show off the lines of the dagger - and her leg - just as Steve automatically glanced to it.

“Say, are you doing anything tonight?” Steve asked.

“Little that cannot be rescheduled,” Naerys said.

“I’d like to step out with you,” he said, swallowing to soothe his suddenly dry throat. “Take a walk, do a bit of stargazing.”

“I - would like that,” Naerys said. The hint of purple in her eyes seemed to deepen, but maybe that was just the way she was looking at him.

“Right. Great,” Steve said. He almost offered to pick her up, but remembered in time that they shared a suite of rooms.

“What do you think, Steve?” Brandon asked, his voice breaking his line of thought.

Steve blinked at the question, looking over at the others. They were watching him, waiting for an answer. “I’m sorry?”

Keladry’s gaze flicked between him and Naerys, wearing just the hint of a smile.

“Do you think it will be long until you start getting betrothal offers?” Brandon said, grinning.

Steve pulled a face. “I think the burgers are ready.” He handed a plate to the two lords, and took another for himself. They dug in heartily, eager to try the new meal.

Elbert swallowed and blinked. “You could make this on the march.”

“I have made it on the march,” Steve said.

“You said you were recruiting?” Elbert said, only half joking as he took another bite.

“You want to join?” Steve asked, completely serious. He had a good enough grasp on the character of the two heirs that he felt comfortable making the offer.

“Our lord uncle would never permit it,” Cynthea said. “Elbert will ride at his side as his heir.”

Elbert was nodding. “Would that I could,” he said. “Everything I’ve seen of you tells me that it would end with us covered in glory.”

“Father would have my hide,” Brandon said. “As much as I’d love to play the hungry wolf in the south with you.”

“Fair,” Steve said, and didn’t press. Conversation turned to the war in general, speaking about what it might mean for the harvest or tax, moving away from topics that Steve had knowledge or interest in.

The servant he had asked to get more ingredients returned, and with him came a small group of knights and ladies. Whatever they had expected of following a servant carrying food to the yard, it was not what they found. They hesitated as one, seeing their lord’s heir, the heir of the North, the wife of the castle’s lord, and Lord America, but a greeting from Elbert persuaded them to join, and the gathering grew, the newcomers arranging themselves around their social superiors.

“You guys hungry?” Steve asked. They were clearly hesitant to answer, trying to wrap their minds around the sight of the lord honoured at the feast the night prior cooking like some kind of servant, but he read their faces. “I’ll throw some more on.”

“Lord America is sharing a meal from his home,” Cynthea said.

“You’ll have to write the recipe down, so I can take it back to Winterfell,” Brandon added.

“Lord America is gracious indeed,” one of the newcomers, a lady, said.

“Being generous doesn’t cost you anything,” Steve said, as he added some wood to the barbecue to keep the heat up. Noises of agreement were made, and they were folded into the conversation.

Spices were sprinkled and steaks thrown on, and that was how he ended up spending the afternoon barbecuing for his friends and a group of nobles. Some clearly didn’t know what to make of him, but even the doubters were influenced by Keladry and Kelda’s talk of buoyed morale on the march when he cooked, and the others were already keen to speak to him about this or that deed he had done. One knight eagerly brought up the tale of ‘Lord America’s Ride’ with such enthusiasm that he was forced to bring out his ‘Golly, it was tough but someone had to do it!’ smile.

Talk turned to the looming war, but it was optimistic, and if there were any harbouring concerns they were likely allayed by Brandon’s cheer and Elbert’s calm. Steve found himself standing next to Naerys, gently bumping shoulders, and counted it an afternoon well spent.

X x X

As evening approached, Steve found himself…not anxious, not even nervous, but off kilter. He knew that if he put a foot wrong, it could hurt him, or Naerys. This wasn’t like when he had stepped out with Sharon. The last time he could remember feeling like this was back in the War, with P-

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and he checked his outfit in the standing mirror. He’d gone with something warm, in the blues and greys that seemed to make up the bulk of his wardrobe these days. It showed off his shoulders well, he thought. Picking a feature to show off was something Nat had drummed into him, before sh- before.

He opened his door, and Naerys was waiting for him. Her blonde hair fell in soft curls, down over one shoulder as was her preference, and she wore the pale lavender dress that she had first worn at the Red Keep. It had been months since then though, and she had been living well and training hard since. Beneath the navy shawl that was draped over her shoulders, Steve could see a lithe strength in her arms.

Naerys raised a brow at him, smiling, and he realised he had been staring.

“Naerys,” Steve said. “You look great.”

She tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “And you, Steve,” she said.

“Am I late?” he asked, wishing for a watch. “I didn’t think I lost track of time.”

“We agreed to meet soon,” Naerys said, “but I did not wish to wait.”

“You know, they say that patience is a virtue,” Steve said, stepping through the door. Naerys didn’t budge, and he looked down as they stood toe to toe.

“Are you a virtuous man, Steve?” Naerys asked. Her eyes, clear blue with just a hint of purple, seemed to challenge him.

“I try to be,” he said, “but some things are worth being impatient for.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

Naerys slipped her hand through his arm, seeking out his own and twining their fingers together. They made their way from their suite of rooms, neither trying to hide the smiles they wore. Keladry was seated at a table in the salon, writing a letter, but she looked up as they passed, and she too wore a hint of a smile, her gaze flicking between them as they left.

The castle halls weren’t busy, but nor were they quiet. The feast was in full swing, as lords politicked and gossiped, war the topic on every mind. Even those they passed were discussing it, but it was a secondary concern for Steve that night, his attention bent on the warmth of Naerys’ hand. He felt like he was back in Brooklyn, and if he turned around he’d see Bucky strolling along with a dame on his own arm.

“You haven’t said where we’re going,” Naerys said, as they passed by a pair of ladies talking in an alcove. The two watched as they passed, conversation pausing, before it was renewed in hushed, excited tones. “Are you going to make me guess?”

“I thought we might go for a stroll along the battlements first,” Steve said. “But after, there’s some mulled wine and a blanket waiting for us on top of one of the towers. Seems like a nice place for some stargazing.”

“That sounds - nice,” Naerys said. “I would like that.” She sounded surprised.

“Is that not a normal date idea?” Steve asked.

“Date? You mean courting?” Naerys asked. “It’s different. No noble maiden would be let out of her chaperone’s sight long enough to stargaze alone with her suitor, some wine, and a blanket.” Her voice was teasing.

Steve made a face. “Don’t tell me I’m giving you a bad reputation because of my idea for courting.”

“As far as most are concerned, we’ve been well beyond courting since we arrived in King’s Landing,” Naerys said, amused.

“King’s Landing? I thought it was Harrenhal,” Steve said.

“You underestimate your popularity with the gossips,” Naerys said, as they left their wing of the castle behind.

“Ugh,” Steve said. “Well, the upside is I don’t care what the gossips think, so long as you’re not bothered.”

“If I was?” Naerys asked, idly curious more than anything.

“I’d have to do something drastic,” Steve said. “Maybe paint them doing something unflattering.” Actually, there might be something to that thought. Depending on how the war went, there could be a use for political caricatures. Pity it wasn’t possible to print off a ream of them and catapult them into a town.

Naerys snorted, and clapped her free hand over her face. “I’m sorry, but I just imagined one of your paintings showing Aerys fleeing his bath time like a small child.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Steve said.

“I did glimpse the painting you started this morning,” Naerys said. “It looks very fine. I look forward to seeing it complete.”

Steve fought the urge to duck his head. He had gotten used to dealing with unending compliments with a smile and a quick comment, but those spoken with sincerity still got to him. “Thanks. Someone smart suggested I sketch famous locations.” He gave her a gentle nudge with his hip.

“They sound wise,” Naerys said, nudging him back. “You should listen to her.”

“I’ve been listening to her since I arrived here, and I don’t regret it,” Steve said. He squeezed her hand.

Naerys blushed lightly, and squeezed back. They came to a door, and Steve opened it for them to step out into the exterior of the castle grounds. Dusk had well and truly come, and it was cool, but pleasantly so in their warm clothing. Both of them felt a small nervous thrill as their date began in earnest. Each looked to the other, seeking to reassure themselves, only for their eyes to meet, and neither could hold back a smile. Wordlessly, Steve gestured to the battlements, and Naerys stepped closer to him, for warmth of course.

It had been a long road from Sharp Point to the Vale, but the road ahead of them promised to stretch longer still.

X

The castle itself lacked the grace of Riverrun or the grandeur of Harrenhal, but the landscape more than made up for it. The mountains rose up behind it, casting the plains before it deep in shadow, and the dying rays of the sun painted the sky above a rich purple. As Steve and Naerys strolled along the battlements, they could see the campfires of the army camp spread out before them, numerous as the stars.

“...and Tony was just standing there in an outfit that cost hundreds of dragons, covered in butter and corn, and he says to Pepper, ‘In my defence, I was sure it would work.’.” Steve was gesturing as he spoke, having let her hand slip from his as they first climbed the stairs to the battlements.

Naerys laughed, delighted. “He didn’t. What did she say?”

Their presence on the walls had been noticed by those on duty, but the guards had adjusted their paths to suit, giving them what privacy they could. Steve made a note to put in a good word for them with Elbert.

“She didn’t say anything,” Steve said. “Just took out a notebook and made a mark, which really made Tony nervous. I wasn’t game to ask, but I found out later that every time he did something that he should have known better about, Pepper made him attend a company meeting on time and in person.”

“Your friends sound like characters,” Naerys said. She sounded wistful. “I - there was no one like that at Sharp Point.”

“You’re not stuck in Sharp Point anymore though,” Steve said. “You’ve got - all of us.”

Naerys gave him a look, the kind that said she knew what he had been going to say before he corrected himself. “I know,” she said. “Yet even so…”

“Was there really no one?” Steve asked. They came to a stop, looking out over the walls.

“There might have been one,” Naerys said. There was a cold wind, and a moment after it had left she pretended to shiver, stepping closer to Steve, and he put his arm around her. “But after my father passed, my letters to Stonedance were no longer returned.”

“Were they a good friend?” Steve asked.

“We were inseparable whenever our fathers had business together,” Naerys said.

“Sounds like more noble stupidity,” Steve said.

“Perhaps,” Naerys said, “but it has been years now, and I doubt she remembers me. She is likely married off who knows where.”

Steve cast about for a happier topic, but she beat him to the punch.

“I remember you speaking about childhood friends,” she said. “Would you tell me about Bucky?”

“Bucky…” Steve trailed off, searching for words. “Half of what we went through together is better told over a drink on a rainy day, and the rest is idiot kids up to mischief, or better not spoken of at all.”

“If you don’t-”

“No, I want to share it with you, it’s just -” Steve stopped with a sigh. “If not for Bucky, I wouldn’t have lived to reach twenty. If not for me, he wouldn’t have reached twenty seven. The things we went through and did for each other…he was my brother, in every way but blood.”

There was a moment of silence, Naerys absorbing his words and Steve yearning for his pal, wishing he were here. The trouble they could have pulled off in this land together…

“When you’re ready,” Naerys said, “I’d like to hear it.”

“I haven’t shared much with anyone about my home, not the details,” Steve said, “but I’d like to tell you.”

Naerys rested her head against his shoulder, letting her actions do the talking, and he sat his chin on her hair. He huffed suddenly, and she looked up with an inquisitive gaze.

“Just thinking,” Steve said. “If Buck were here, he’d be in that tower somewhere, spying on us through a window.”

“He seems a good man,” Naerys said.

“The best,” Steve said. “Even if he spent too much time trying to set me up on dates with the friends of gals he was seeing.”

“A common habit?” Naerys asked.

“Oh, it was the worst,” Steve said. “I didn’t have that natural grace you’ve got going, and I was much smaller and skinnier. Couldn’t dance worth a damn either.”

Naerys gave him a look, like she couldn’t decide if she should eye him for mentioning past dates or preen at his comment.

“Not that I’m thinking about any of them, not on a date with a beautiful dame.” Ha, and Nat said he couldn’t be smooth.

“I think that even if you were still small and skinny, your quality would shine through,” Naerys said. Her lips quirked in amusement as Steve ducked his head.

“Bucky would like you,” he said. “Though I’d have a rough time if you ever met.”

“How so?”

“You have too much dirt on me,” Steve said. “I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Dirt, you say,” Naerys said, mischief clearly on her mind.

Steve could already feel himself regretting it, but he answered anyway. “‘Lord’ America. Being knighted. Having a banner with my star on it. Fighting against an evil king. It would be like when he and the rest of the guys got their hands on a tape of me punching out Hitler for my show.” He spoke like it was the end of the world.

Naerys held back a smile at his overwrought complaining. “So I may take your words to mean I have leverage, is what you’re saying.”

He groaned. He knew he would regret it. “Name your price.”

“I already have access to your accounts,” Naerys said, faux-considering. “What to ask for…”

“Be kind.”

“I know,” Naerys said, ignoring him. “I demand mulled wine, and a kiss.”

“Well, I can get you the wine no problem,” Steve said. “But the kiss might be-” he was cut off, lips suddenly busy, but he found he didn’t mind. His hands went to her hips as they turned in to each other, as Naerys’ hands settled on his shoulders as she went up on her tiptoes. At length, they broke apart, lips swollen and pulses racing.

Steve swallowed, licking his lips. “Did that do it?”

Naerys pulled him down again. Apparently not.

X

The scene atop the tower was as Steve had planned; a blanket spread out on the stone and some pillows, and two fresh bottles of mulled wine. He could smell the spices wafting from them as he offered his hand to Naerys when she reached the top of the ladder, pulling her up when she accepted it. She pretended to overbalance, falling into his chest, and he caught her, holding her in his arms.

Naerys looked up at him with artfully arranged doe eyes, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips, but Steve couldn’t help himself. He stifled a laugh, lips quivering, and she pouted at him.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. “No, really,” he said when she thumped him lightly.

She was smiling too, though it felt like they had done little else during the date. “Hush,” she said. “I saw my chance and I seized it.”

Steve gave her a squeeze. “Might be the other way around.”

“And yet, I’m right where I want to be,” she said. She tried to reach up to steal another kiss, but Steve held her tight, and she only succeeded in pressing her body against him.

He had a sudden need for distance, and he released her, stepping back. He coughed. “Would you like a drink?”

Naerys looked confused, but then her eyes flicked down for a bare instant, and her smile turned into a smirk. “I would, please.” She stepped over to the blanket and made herself comfortable on it, sitting with her legs tucked to one side.

Steve was quick to crouch down by the bottles, popping one open and pouring two goblets. He took the chance to rearrange himself unobtrusively, and turned back to see her watching him. One would think that the ability to keep a straight face while Nat and Clint were doing their best to make him blink would help him in the face of Naerys’ knowing look, but it didn’t. He offered her a goblet, and was quick to hide his face in his own as he sat by her, turning to let his legs sprawl out, leaning back on one arm.

“Oh, that’s good,” Naerys said after taking a sip. She brushed back her shawl, and took another. Steve’s eye was caught by the line of her neck as she drank.

Heat raced through his chest as he drank of his own cup, and the wine was only partially the cause. “It’s a beautiful night,” he said, looking up.

“Do you remember that evening at Harrenhal?” Naerys asked.

“Which one?”

Rather than answer, Naerys straightened and cleared her throat.

“Fly me to the moon,

Let me play among the stars…”

Steve listened as she sang, lulled by the soft richness of her voice as he was near carried off to another world. There was a pure joy on her face as she sang, and her voice rose into the night, lighter than a faerie’s breath. When it was over, Steve was still, already wishing to hear it again.

“You have a lovely voice,” he said quietly.

“My mother was a singer,” Naerys said, some of her joy fading. “Father would ask me to sing when he was sad. He said I had her voice.”

“He sounds like a good man,” Steve said, watching her.

Naerys smiled, but it was different to those she had worn before, speaking of sadness and nostalgia. “He was.” She pushed her thoughts away, returning to the present. “Would you teach me another song from your home?”

“I’d like that,” Steve said. “But, we don’t have any paper this time.”

“You’ll have to sing it to me first, so I might learn it,” Naerys said, leaning in.

Steve gave her a look, to which she batted her eyes in innocence. He shook his head, and cleared his throat, before taking another sip of wine.

“I see trees of green, red roses too

I see them bloom for me and you

And I think to myself…”

He sang, and Naerys listened, enthralled by his voice and the words it carried. She was lucky, she knew - some of the ladies she had befriended spoke of husbands who hardly spared them a thought, let alone sang to them, but then she had long known the strength of Steve’s character. It was not his origins that made him so, she knew; he was surely a singular man even in his home and here he was, courting her, a bastard girl from an isolated holding with little to offer. She watched his eyes as his song began to come to an end, and in them she saw in them a homesickness.

“That’s beautiful Steve,” Naerys said as he finished. “The song, as well.”

“I’m not awful,” Steve said, short selling himself in her mind. “Don’t think I’ll ever forget that you had me singing for months while you were hiding a voice like yours.”

“I’m not sure what you’re speaking of,” Naerys lied. “Tell me the lyrics again?”

They put their heads together, sharing wine and words as the moon rose overhead. In between, Steve spoke of where he had learned the song, of friends sharing music with him, and Naerys shared the few times a minstrel had passed through Sharp Point and her father had paid for them to teach her. By the time one bottle was gone, and they were lazily making their way through the second, Naerys was confident enough to attempt the song.

Steve snagged a pillow and lay back as she sang, staring up at the stars. He knew that outside the castle were thousands of men under the same stars, ready to fight and die in a conflict that they had little stake in, but Naerys’ voice had a way of distancing that harsh reality as she sang of friends shaking hands.

“Yes, I think to myself

What a wonderful world…”

“That was perfect,” Steve said.

“I need practice,” Naerys said, as she lay down with him, joining him in looking up at the sky. She ignored the other pillow, choosing instead to curl into his side and lay her head on his shoulder. Steve wrapped his claimed arm around her, and after a moment of hesitation, trailed his fingers back and forth along her side, gently. Between the wine and the song and the warmth they shared, he was content on a level that had eluded him for a long time. He pressed his face into her hair, closing his eyes as he breathed in.

“Steve,” Naerys said.

“Yeah?”

“Would you tell me something about yourself? Something I don’t know.”

For a moment, Steve thought. He thought about sharing his ‘true’ age, some of his adventures, and for one stupid moment, even Peggy, but then it came to him. “My Ma’s name was Sarah,” he said. “She was a nurse - a healer that supports more specialised healers. Ran herself ragged helping others, which is probably where I got it from.” He thought back to those halcyon days in Brooklyn, only to shake his head. There was nothing idyllic about those days, nostalgic as he was for them at times. “She caught something on the job. Didn’t make it, but she taught me near on everything I know about right and wrong.”

“She was a good mother?”

“The best.”

Silence fell again, Naerys tracing small circles on his chest while his hand cradled her hip. For all they had shared beds in the past, they’d never been so close to each other, and both luxuriated in the presence of the other.

At length, Naerys spoke. “I know you miss your home,” she said, “but I’m selfish enough to say I’m glad you came here.”

“I do miss my home, and the people in it,” Steve admitted, “but I don’t regret meeting you.”

Naerys turned away from the stars, and laid a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I know.”

The two of them watched the moon and the stars, talking softly and learning the kind of things that one only came to know of their partners, like the ticklish spot behind her ear and that he was easily distracted by the promise of a kiss. They drank the last of the wine and when its warmth had faded, found more in each other, Steve holding her to his chest as she twined a leg through his own. The cold began to set in in truth, and both knew they needed to leave, though neither could find the will. It was only when Steve started to seriously consider pulling the blanket over them to spend the night that he forced himself to rise, pulling Naerys with him.

Their evening together ended with an air of regret, but only because it had to end at all, and already they were looking forward to their next chance to steal some time alone.

The next morning, a raven arrived with news that threatened to cast a pall over their good moods. King Aerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name, had declared Stark, Arryn, Tully, and Baratheon to be Outlaw, removed from the protection of the King’s Peace. War had been declared.