Grey clouds overhead threatened to drizzle on the two men that watched and observed that day. The supply depot they were inspecting was the first example of a camp that had actually met Steve’s standards. He was almost impressed. A short distance from where the Blueburn began after it formed from a confluence of rivers and streams, a rectangular layout had been arranged on flat ground, perhaps one hundred yards long on one side, seventy on another. Palisade walls had been built, and outside them ditches had been dug and mounds erected. Wooden spikes bristled on the mounds and in the ditches. Each corner of the camp had a wooden watchtower, and from a distance, there looked to be one sentry in each at all times. There was one entry and exit per side, though the one that led to the river was the widest, and only a short distance from the makeshift docks that even now had a pair of low sitting oared rivercraft at them. Without elevated ground higher than the low hill they had climbed to view it from, it was difficult to make out the goings on within it, but they could see temporary dwellings had been built along with semi permanent canvas structures that seemed to be warehouses for supplies. It was impossible to tell how many enemies there were defending it, but Steve had a feeling there were at least a few. All told, it was a perfectly serviceable layout to amass and distribute supplies.

“You almost done?” Walt asked. “That patrol is about due around again.”

“Almost,” Steve said, just putting the final touches on a rough sketch of the depot layout.

They had been cautious in their approach, and it had paid off. Walt and the other veterans had seen them avoid the patrol routes of the camp, aided by the trails said patrols had worn into the land. Like the force they had routed and scattered to the winds the previous week, there was no expectation of a hostile force. Steve smiled faintly as he finished his work, satisfied in the same way a carpenter was after a particularly well fit joint. It seemed that word of his coming had yet to reach the right ears.

“Let’s get back to our camp,” Steve said, rolling up his parchment. “We’ve got planning to do.”

X

The pair of them slipped away from the depot without being seen, and within the hour were back at the camp the men had made in a dip between two hills. With sentries hunkered atop them, they would see any approaching force long before being seen themselves. Things were more cramped than usual, given their desire to stay hidden, but they had managed. Tents were erected against the poor weather, and a tarp had been suspended over a portion of the horse pen. As Steve and Walt dismounted, Toby was there to take their horses, and the threatened drizzle became rain in truth.

“Any trouble?” Steve asked the kid, handing over Brooklyn’s reins.

“Nup,” Toby said. His pants were cut off below the knee, ragged, but he wore a quality canvas cloak with a hood to keep the worst of the weather off. Rain droplets hit with a soft splat and rolled down it. “Some of them like the rain, some hate it, but I got that tarp up for ‘em.”

“Means he badgered us till we did it for him,” a nearby soldier said, getting a blanket over a horse’s back. His name was Ric, a stocky Riverlander with black hair who hadn’t thought twice after getting Steve’s offer. “Gave us grief about the work, too.”

“That’s cos I’m in charge,” Toby said. “The boss.”

“Uh huh,” Ric said, rolling his eyes, though he didn’t gainsay him, focusing on his job.

“Where are your shoes, boss?” Steve asked, eyeing Toby’s bare, muddy feet.

“Naerys said I didn’t hafta wear them,” Toby said immediately.

“Did she?” Steve asked.

Toby nodded quickly. “Honest.”

Walt didn’t bother trying to hold back his amused snort, and Toby stuck out his tongue at him.

There was an amused glitter in Walt’s eye, but Steve spoke up before the old man could do more than open his mouth. “Have the new mounts finished settling in?”

“Yeah, they’ve all sorted themselves,” Toby reported. He handed the reins of their mounts off to Ric, and the man led them away. “One herd now. Redbloom and Fury stepped up, Quicksilver too.”

“That’s good,” Steve said. “Well done.” He knew there had been some concern over integrating so many new horses without conflict, but Toby had managed it with apparent ease. Every member of the company now had a mount and a spare.

“Weren’t nothin’,” Toby said, kicking at the ground.

“Remember to wash your feet once you’re done,” Steve said.

“Yeah, Naerys said,” Toby grumbled. A whinny caught his attention and he turned. The rain was making some of the horses frisky, while others were trying to crowd under the cover. “Bye.”

“That boy,” Walt said, more amused than anything.

Steve shook his head, a slight smile on his face. “Come on, let’s get out of this weather.”

“Youth,” Walt said, derisive tone belied by the look in his eye. “I’m going to see what I can pick up from that glaive monster.” He glanced over to where Keladry was leading a small group of mostly knights and the odd man-at-arms through more advanced polearm forms.

They split, Walt heading for the spot on the slope of one hill that Keladry had claimed, and Steve making for one of the two larger tents in the camp. One was the main tent they had picked up all the way back in King’s Landing, but the other was the doctor’s tent, doing double duty as Corivo’s workspace and sleeping area.

Steve ducked in, out of the rain, and looked around. It was divided by a cloth wall, the larger area for the doctor’s work arranged around a long table with the odd bloodstain on it, and another smaller but cleaner table against the left wall, several cloth wrapped books on it. The second area, to the right, was Corivo’s personal area and given the emptiness of the first, he assumed he was there.

“Corivo?” Steve called. “You there?”

“Yes, one moment,” Corivo’s voice answered, and there was the sound of rustling. He emerged through a flap in the wall, book in hand with a thumb marking his place. “Has someone hurt themselves again?”

“No - again?” Steve asked.

“Foolishness in training and a squashed nose,” Corivo said. In the time since Gulltown, he had grown out his moustache, and it was beginning to curl up at the sides. “Not broken, thankfully. Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to a pair of folding wood and cloth stools by the smaller table.

“I thought we were past that,” Steve said, pulling out the stool and taking a seat. The slow patter of rain against the canvas of the tent was a steady backdrop.

“An accident, though that didn’t stop your second in command from expressing his disapproval,” Corivo said, taking the second seat, his back to the operating table. He made a face. “Nor did it prevent the extra repetitions for the group that came after.”

“Fair,” Steve said, not even bothering to try and conceal his smirk.

Corivo waved a finger at him. “One day you will meet someone in finer form than yourself, and I will laugh.”

“If you say so,” Steve said.

“What does bring you here, if not that?” Corivo asked. He set his book on his knee, still with his thumb holding his place.

“I wanted to check in on the state of the wounded,” Steve said. “See how they’re recovering.”

“Ah,” Corivo said, gaze going distant as he considered. “Superficial injuries have healed, and what I feared was a fracture was not. Ser Arland should refrain from any infantry charges, but his knee is otherwise fit to fight. The concussion, I am still concerned, and he should remain in the guard squad for another week. Two, I would prefer.”

Steve nodded slowly. The fight at the Sestor holdfast had not been without consequence, even if they had gotten off more lightly than anyone would have gambled. “Solid work,” he said.

“My thanks,” the olive skinned man said, inclining his head. “More so for your information on the long term consequences of head injuries. It is not a subject that I have found great knowledge on.”

“I promised to share what I know,” Steve said, shrugging.

Corivo gave him a considering look for a moment. “You know how much this knowledge is worth.”

“I do.”

“I’m not sure what I expected,” Corivo said, lips quirking in a slight smile.

“You’ll save lives,” Steve said. “My men’s lives. Seems a fair deal.”

Corivo tapped his book against his knee. “What do you intend when the injuries build up?” he asked. “I have seen objective raids like this, and I have seen long term incursions, but never both from a small force.”

"If we get to the stage that we can't safely operate as a fighting force while protecting the wounded, we'll retreat and link up with incoming Baratheon forces," Steve said. “The company has greater value than the degree of disruption to the Reach that would come from spending it against them.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to adhere to that reasoning,” Corivo said.

“I don’t buy into that kind of calculus, but I’ve had to talk around those that do,” Steve said. “Part of that value is the value of my soldiers as people.”

“The campaign has been illuminating,” Corivo said, nodding. “I had thought it to be the Westerosi manner, but that is not quite true, no?”

Steve shook his head. “I’ve adapted my strategy for the campaign, but no, it’s not. If we link up with a larger army, we’ll see how they wage war.”

Corivo considered that for a moment. “I have been told that Westerosi wars are like that of the Century of Blood.”

“The century of what?” Steve asked, brows shooting up.

“A chaotic period of upheaval and power struggles that suffused much of Essos,” Corivo said. “We could speak for many days on the topic, and it is not a pleasant discussion.”

“I’m going to have to sit down in a library for a few weeks after this is all sorted,” Steve said. Between Naerys and Keladry there were few things that couldn’t be explained to him, but he’d pay a lot for an encyclopaedia like the ones SHIELD had given him after waking up.

“You paramour will be pleased,” Corivo said, his smile showing white teeth, “though you may find yourself spending more than a few weeks.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “If we take out a large enough force, I could seize the paychest and buy her a library of her own. I can’t see myself prying her out of one otherwise.”

“She was most disappointed that my books were all written in High Valyrian,” Corivo said. “But - paychests, you mean to imply that the Westerosi operate as the free companies do?”

“You mean your mercenary companies?” Steve asked, thinking. “I’m not actually sure. I think most soldiers here serve as a form of tax, or service owed. I might be making assumptions from home.”

“The grizzled one, Walt, would know,” Corivo said.

“He would,” Steve said, but his attention had been caught by something else. “Do you mean that mercenary companies in Essos run around with all their wealth?” He couldn’t say the idea didn’t intrigue him. It offered…possibilities.

“To a point,” Corivo said. “The Golden Company is renowned for its members wearing their wealth on their person, but any company above a certain…” he gestured, searching for a word, “capability, will keep their treasures in a bank.” He gave Steve a look. “Why?”

“I have plans, and they need money,” Steve said, like he wasn’t talking about the destruction of the slave industry in Essos. “I’ll probably end up fighting a few of those free companies at some point. Seems like a good idea to take their measure.”

“As you say,” Corivo said. “Though I imagine your service in this conflict will earn you a pretty coin.”

“Oh, I’m not contracted,” Steve said, waving a hand.

“I’m sorry?” Corivo said, blinking.

“This is…I guess you’d call it a personal matter,” Steve said. “I’m friends with some of the people at the heart of the matter.”

The doctor regarded him for a long moment. “It becomes easier and easier to see how you inspire such loyalty,” Corivo said.

Steve shrugged. He’d been accused of being willing to take a bullet for strangers in the street before, but he knew his baggage, and he wasn’t about to bring it up now. “You mentioned serving with a free company during your apprenticeship?”

“Yes, the Windblown,” Corivo said. “It was a new company when I joined my master there, but they have grown, and…”

The rain continued to drizzle softly against the canvas. They spoke for a while more, and Steve learned about life with a free company in Essos. Parts were interesting, more informative, and some quietly infuriating. It would be some time before the information could be put to use, but he remembered it all the same. He left Corivo to his own pursuits and emerged to see Keladry’s training session coming to an end, the men walking down the slope of the hill. One man slipped on the wet grass to much laughter and jeering, though it was without malice. Mid-morning was starting to be left behind, and soon he would have to get a move on with the planning.

The grey clouds overhead made him pause, however, and he stared up at them for a long moment. Rain fell on his face, but he ignored it, his right hand twitching. It had been some time - months - since he had last tried to call Mjolnir. Not since a stormy evening in Harrenhal.

For a moment, he considered waiting, or going elsewhere first, but he highly doubted the hammer was close enough that it would arrive in his hand before he could cease his call. He was just going to see if it was possible. There was a flash of phantom pain in his hand, but he pushed past it. He needed to try.

Steve reached out, not physically, seeking the connection. For a long moment, there was nothing. No response, no thread of connection coming to him. But then -

Pain, sheer agony shot up his arm, and the only reason he didn’t scream was because his muscles had locked tight in response. He could smell cooked pork, and the memory of a metal coffin flashed through his mind, but then it was driven out by the torment.

- and he pushed the connection away, willing it to be gone. A heartbeat later, the anguish stopped, and he stumbled, jaw clenched near hard enough to crack his teeth. The scent of cooked pork did not go away, and the pain lingered.

“Ser, are you alright?”

Steve fought to master himself, looking up. It was Ser Henry, fresh from Keladry’s training, and he was looking at him in concern. He managed a jerky nod. “I’m fine,” he forced out. “Thanks.”

Henry was dubious, but nodded slowly, obeying the unspoken command and continuing on his way. He looked back once before moving around the corner of the healing tent and out of sight.

When he was gone, Steve looked down at his hand, slowly turning it over to see his palm.

The affected skin was a mix of black and red, and yellow blisters were already swelling up. A path had been burnt across his palm, a thick line, and amidst the damage he could make out a familiar pattern.

Slowly, Steve turned to reenter Corivo’s tent. His mind was full of worries, but they were distant, second to the immediate moment, and he felt disconnected. He would need a salve for this.

X

What had once been their travelling tent had become the commander’s tent, and the focal point of the camp. Steve and Naerys still had their ‘rooms’ within it, but for the most part it had been given over to a planning room. Unlike in Corivo’s workspace, a table was a luxury and not a need, so they had not spent precious baggage space on it. Instead, those involved in the planning of the assault on the supply depot were gathered in a circle, some sitting on folding stools, others standing. All were looking down on the sketch that Steve had made of the depot earlier, the breaking clouds allowing enough sun through to illuminate it. The wind was still present, blowing against canvas walls.

“Not as bad as that Gee Cee camp on Bloodstone,” Erik said, breaking the silence. His hands were in his pockets as he looked down at the map over Walt’s shoulder.

Walt gave a disgusted grunt, rubbing at the old arrow scar on his cheek. “Better not be,” he said, shifting on his stool.

“If we’re not thorough, a rider could escape easily,” Keladry said, across from him, her eyes fixed on the sketch. She still wore her navy and white gambeson, its bulk obscuring the shape of her torso, and her arms were crossed as she thought.

“Patrols will be the issue,” Walt said. “They’ll rabbit if they come back to see it taken.”

“We could begin by ambushing the patrols?” Henry suggested, also standing behind Walt. “Take them out, then close in on the depot.” Like Keladry, he still wore his gambeson after the training session, though perhaps for different reasons.

“Unless they’re fools, they’ll have rotating patrols,” Yorick said, scratching at his blond fringe. He stood behind Keladry, and he looked at the others in the tent as he spoke. “They would be wise to our coming.”

The last two squad leaders kept their counsel to themselves, not yet comfortable with voicing their thoughts on strategy before knights and old soldiers. Humfrey and Osric stood shoulder to shoulder with their backs to the tent flap, listening.

“I’d rather not assault the depot outright,” Steve said, sitting across from them, speaking at last. His hand was throbbing, but he ignored it, as well as the urge to fiddle with the bandage wrapped around it. “Danger aside, you’re all right about the patrols.” They still had time before an organised response could be brought to bear against them. Not for nothing had they seized every horse and left their prisoners without shoes or excess supplies to trudge to the nearest holdfast. Even so, a horseman riding hard carrying word of a force striking at supply points would hasten that response greatly.

“So we cannot take them without alerting the camp, and we cannot gamble on catching them afterwards,” Henry said.

“We could,” Steve said, “but I don’t want to. Gamble, I mean.”

Small smiles were shared at his blunt words.

“What if we snuck in at night?” Robin asked. He stood at Steve’s back, and he swallowed at the sudden attention on him. “Do they still patrol at night?”

“Not this lot,” Walt said, considering. “Not with what we’ve seen of them. They feel safe.”

“Sentries, and maybe a group sleeping near their horses,” Erik opined.

“These buildings,” Keladry said, pointing at two long and narrow buildings by the west wall. “Are they the barracks?” They stood out from the other structures within, being some of the few made of wood rather than canvas.

“Likely,” Steve said. “With how long this camp has been here, they won’t have the men sleeping under canvas still.” His hand was starting to itch, and he flexed it, trying to gain relief with the bandage. A few eyes flicked to it, but nothing was said.

“If we gained entry at night, we could bottle those sleeping within,” Keladry said.

“I’ll be Lord of the Eyrie before the company can sneak up on them,” Yorick said, though he didn’t sound completely against the idea.

“It’d be a small force to lead, and the rest to follow,” Erik said, scratching at his fading ginger stubble.

Walt made a noise of agreement. “Bulk of them in the barracks, one sentry in each tower, whatever ready response they have, and call it…one pair patrolling the camp.”

“That’s a lot of guesswork,” Steve said, non-judgemental.

“I’m old and scrappy, so it’s good guesswork,” Walt said.

“You’re not even fifty,” Steve said.

“I said old, not ancient,” Walt said.

“I woulda said ancient,” Erik said, needling his old comrade.

“You woulda said a lot of things, it’s why you’re missing that tooth,” Walt said.

“I volunteer my squad for the force,” Humfrey said, speaking up for the first time.

There was a pause as the others took a moment to refocus on the matter at hand.

“Fu- balls,” Erik said. He wasn’t alone in his disappointment, but some thought more swiftly than others.

“I volunteer mine for a mounted response, in case of runners,” Henry said quickly.

“One squad won’t be enough to secure the camp,” Yorick said. “My squad and I could take the opposite side to Humfrey’s, then secure the docks.”

“Alright, alright,” Steve said, raising his left hand, smiling. “I appreciate your enthusiasm. Are we all agreed on a night time sneak attack?”

There was only a moment of further thought before he was answered by nods.

“Then here’s how we’ll do it…”

X

The moon was bright that night, but the night sky was streaked with clouds, leaving the landscape of rolling hills and fields dappled in shadow. It was through these shadows that Steve and his men crept, following the creases in the fields and staying low, hoping to avoid the attention of the depot sentries as they approached from the west.

From the east, Ser Yorick led his own squad, following the river and the thick trees that bordered it. Without any way to communicate, Steve felt a thread of disquiet, like they were on a clock he couldn’t see, but he strangled it, focusing on his own task. Beyond their two separate approaches, they needed to get the job done before the mounted squad drew near. An effort to catch any who slipped their net could easily give the game away before they were ready.

Brigandine was leagues better than plate for their task, and Steve was thankful he had paid extra to have the helms and gorgets scuffed and darkened. Having left his plate behind that night, the most reflective thing about them was the shield on his back, but he was long practised in ensuring that there would be no glint of light from it to give them away. The final approach was yet to come, but they were closer than he and Walt had been earlier that day, and the alarm was yet to be raised.

“Ser,” Robin whispered. “I can make the shot from here.”

Steve raised a fist, Humfrey mirroring him halfway down the line, and they stopped, half hidden behind a rolling slope. “You’re sure?” They were less than one hundred metres from the walls, but not by much.

Robin nodded, taking an arrow from his quiver, and that was enough for Steve. He looked to Humfrey and spoke softly. “You will hold here until Robin takes his shot. Once the sentry is dealt with, rush the gate, quietly, and I’ll have it open for you.”

“Aye ser,” Humfrey said, even and steady. He had come a long way from being a barely trained villager fighting against clansmen, even if he had killed two in his first fight.

“Robin, you take your shot as soon as you see me make my move,” Steve said. He spent a long moment looking over Humfrey’s squad. A mix of smallfolk and men at arms, the fifteen of them were crouched, leaning against the slope, and there was a mix of caution and eagerness in their frames. He had trained them as best he could, but now it was on them to put it into action. “Godspeed. I’ll see you all afterwards.”

There was no answer, but every man touched a knuckle to their forehead or ducked their heads. Steve turned and made for the river, disappearing into the night, and they settled in to wait.

Save for the thick line of trees on either bank of the river, there was little cover beyond depressions in the fallow fields. Had it been daytime, or had the cloud cover been less, he would have been completely exposed to any sentry to glance his way. But it wasn’t, and he wasn’t. Steve made it to his goal in a quick minute, a tree that was too far from the camp to be worth the effort of removing, in line with the north side wall. He could see the sentry in the tower clearly. The man was sitting down, chest and up above the walls of his perch, and he had removed his helm, though he still wore a chain coif. He was looking towards the river, keeping an eye on the boats or perhaps just appreciating the way the moon reflected from its slow moving surface.

Steve watched, profile hidden against the tree, and waited for long heartbeats. When he judged the moment right, he moved swiftly, crossing the distance to the wall in moments. The spike filled ditch he stepped over in one long stride, slipping between the spikes on the mound behind it without slowing. The mound served as a platform for him to leap over the wall in a single bound, and he collided with the side of the tower platform, grasping the top with his left hand. The sentry was looking over in confusion, and confusion turned to alarm as he saw the man clinging to the outside of his post. He was drawing in a breath to shout, one hand going to the dagger at his hip, when Steve vaulted over and kicked him in the jaw as hard as he could.

The man’s neck snapped audibly and he collapsed, but Steve was there to catch him before he could land with a clatter of maille. He rose up in time to hear the faint twang of a bow, followed by a pained exhale and the sound of someone falling to one knee. There was a second twang, and a soft thud. He paused, listening, but after a long moment all remained quiet, and the sentries at the far end of the depot didn’t so much as twitch, continuing their watch.

It wasn’t easy to clamber down the tower with one hand, but he managed, sliding down and using his good hand and feet to arrest his momentum, hopping off when he could land quietly. Inside the camp proper now, he could see that his first impression had been correct - whoever had organised it knew what they were doing, the lanes straight and true, buildings and canvas tents arranged in blocks. There was no time to inspect them more closely however, and he darted along towards the gate between the wall and the wooden building that they suspected to be the barracks. The gate was barred, but it was the work of a moment to raise it, and then the gate was creaking open to let in Humfrey and his men. They hurried in, slipping to the side and out of view of anyone who might walk along the lane that ran all the way down to the gate on the east side.

“The barracks?” Humfrey asked, voice hoarse with the whisper.

Steve nodded. On either side of the west gate, and against the wall, if it wasn’t them there wasn’t a second option. “Detail four men to block the doors. The rest of you will go to the stables and lock them down,” he said. Going by the size of the buildings, there could be twenty men in each or there could be forty, but that wouldn’t matter if they were trapped within, or better yet unaware of the intrusion. “I’ll make sure the camp is clear.”

Gestures and whispers conveyed orders, but Steve left them to it, venturing alone deeper into the depot. It was only caution that said there might be guards on patrol, but better to check than to be caught unawares. He prowled down the lanes, checking the camp in a grid pattern. The stable was by the south gate, so he checked the rest of camp first, the minutes spent stretching out as he strained his senses. The night air was cool, and in the stillness every step seemed to crunch loudly in the dirt. He couldn’t help but inspect the temporary ‘warehouses’ that much of the camp housed. They almost looked like marquee tents, wooden stakes holding up canvas roofs so that the crates and barrels within could be attended to from all sides, no doorway entrance creating a bottleneck. The supplies they held were stacked high, almost to the ceiling, too high to be able to look through and see the other lanes. He continued searching, ears pricked.

He found nothing. Either there were no patrolling guards, or they had the devil’s own luck in avoiding him. He caught a glimpse of Robin clambering up into the sentry tower that he had made vacant, keeping his bow below its side, out of sight, and he gave a two fingered salute in acknowledgement, receiving one in turn. Things were going as well as could be hoped.

Then, he heard an angry call, and sounds of a scuffle. A horse whinnied loudly. At the same time, he heard a snap of stone on flesh from the east.

His men could handle whomever they were fighting at the stable, but Yorick’s squad would be slowed by the locked gate. He was already running for the gate when he heard another sling shot whistling through the air, and a loud clang as it hit a helm. An oath of pain followed, and Steve reached the east gate in time to see the last sentry rising back up, one hand on his head, the other reaching for a rope hanging from a small bell.

Had his shield been whole, the throw would have been easy, but his shield was not whole. It was broken, and his hand was burnt. The bell rang once, twice, sounding out in the night, and then the sentry’s head snapped back as something hit him in the face. Alive or dead, he fell back against the tower wall and slumped out of sight.

Steve lifted the bar from the gate and tossed it over his shoulder, dragging the gates open, and then he was sprinting back towards the barracks. The bell had rang only briefly, but it surely would have woken some, and from there more would wake. The staccato of hooves caught his ear, close and growing closer, and he was passing through the central intersection of the camp when he caught sight of the horse and rider. The man’s look of determination turned to one of almost comical surprise, and Steve saw the moment he decided to ride him down. Stopping in place, he waited as the rider neared, as if frozen with indecision. The man was unarmed, and had a split lip, but his mount at full gallop would still be enough to kill most men.

Most men, but not Steve Rogers.

The horse neared, and Steve jumped, twisting, clearing the horse with ease. The rider had a bare moment to gape before he was backhanded off his mount, flying through the air and wheezing at the blow to his chest. He landed heavily in the dirt, twitching and stunned, but Steve had no time to see to him. He could hear a clamour at the barracks, and his men needed his aid.

He ran, long legs eating up the remaining distance, and he arrived in time to see two of his men bracing against one of the barrack doors. Something slammed against it on the other side, rocking them back, but they held firm with hard earned strength. Their spears acted as bars, fed through the handle to prevent it from being opened inwards. Those within the barracks were well and truly awake, and he could hear similar struggles taking place at the other doors. Across the lane, the door closest had no men holding it, but instead a wall of crates, three deep at the door.

Steve placed a hand on the door, and when the next charge came, it barely shifted. A pained cuss sounded from behind the door.

“Ser?” one man asked.

“Head to the other barracks,” Steve said. “I’ll handle this.” There was another impact on the door and a loud crash, like something was being used as a battering ram, but again the door only rattled. “Take your spears.”

Neither man hesitated, taking out the spears they had used as bars and taking off at a run. When it came to feats of strength, there wasn’t a man in the company that doubted their Captain. Again there came a crash, but this time something broke, and it wasn’t Steve or the door. More curses sounded, and he decided to take care of things before they hurt themselves.

The hinges had seen better days, and the door was stiff as Steve opened it. Creaking, it opened inwards, revealing the interior to him. Rows of bunk beds ran the length of the building, roughmade and with stretched canvas for mattresses. More important were the men who had been sleeping on them, many half dressed and half armoured. Two men held the remains of a trunk between them, and they were openly befuddled as they stared at the open door.

“I think I see the problem,” Steve said, trying and failing to hold back a smirk. “This door opens inwards, and you were trying to push it out.”

The chest was dropped as the first man, shirtless and with an impressive brown moustache, lowered his head and rushed him barehanded. He meant to tackle Steve out of the way and leave the exit open, but he found instead an immovable wall of muscle, less give to it than the wooden walls of the building itself. What would have been a perfect example of a tackle, folding Steve over his shoulder and carrying him back, instead left him in a deep guillotine hold, though it wasn’t for long.

Steve grabbed him by the hem of his pants and threw him up into the ceiling with a great crash. When he came down as gravity demanded, he landed on his fellow battering ram enthusiast, trapping him under his stunned bulk.

“Who’s next?” Steve asked.

There were many volunteers. The door at the far end of the building was left almost alone as the men-at-arms flowed towards the false promise of escape. The first was met with a loud open handed slap, spinning him as he was knocked to the right, and the second caught the backhand, sending him careening into a bunk to the left, thoroughly rattled.

The next man had a dagger, and advanced with wide swipes, trying to force Steve to step back as much as cut him. Instead he turned and stepped in through the door, ruining the slash. The dagger came up for his neck, but Steve caught it with his left hand, allowing the blade to slide between his fingers, catching the hand wielding it in his own. He twisted his wrist, and with a crack the man’s own broke, prying a scream from his throat at the unexpected pain. Steve swept his legs out from under him with one foot, and he landed heavily, rolling out of the way as best he could despite the pain.

The next five men didn’t provide any more of a challenge, and Steve handed out slaps and backhands with alacrity. One hand may be burnt and swaddled in bandages, but the day he couldn’t hold a doorway against regular folk with one hand was the day he retired. There were still a good three dozen men in the building, but suddenly they were looking a lot less eager to get past him, some glancing back at the other door.

A panicked surge towards the door that three of his men were holding wasn’t ideal. He took a deceptively casual stance. "Now, we can keep going, or you can go back to bed,” he said, sweeping his gaze over them. “But one way or another, you'll be taking a nap." He raised his left hand in silent threat.

“You want us to let you just take the camp?” someone called in challenge.

“I want you to stay in your barracks so I don’t have to kill any more of you,” Steve said bluntly.

Several men looked to those on the ground, but they were still shifting and groaning, some pulling themselves out of the way, and they were confused, but then they realised what it must mean for an enemy knight to be in the heart of their camp, menacing them in their own barracks.

“You stay in here and don’t make trouble, and you’ll be released unharmed once we’re done here,” Steve said. “Otherwise…”

The group was too large to judge its members individually, but he could feel the mood wavering between keyed up and overwhelmed by his display.

A clatter of hooves approached, and Steve stepped back through the door to see who approached. It was one of Humfrey’s squad, and the horse was a new one.

“We got them all Ser,” the man said. “The camp is yours.”

“Thank you Robert,” Steve said. He glanced back at those within the building. They hadn’t made any move in his apparent distraction, but they had still heard his words. “Well?”

“You took the camp?” the same man amongst them asked, apparently the new spokesman.

“I could be lying,” Steve said. “But the sentries aren’t ringing their bells, you’re trapped in your barracks, and my soldier here is riding one of your horses.”

Another horse approached, and this time it was one of Yorick’s squad. “Captain,” the man said. It was Draga, a rare Northman found in the Vale. There was blood in his black beard. “Boats are taken, and their crew.”

“Well done,” Steve said. He turned back to the milling men-at-arms. “Got the supply boats, too.”

“...fine.”

“Fine what?”

“We’ll stay penned up in here,” the same man said. “On our word.”

“Everyone agrees with this?” Steve asked the room at large. There was a round of ayes, some more grudging than others, but he was satisfied. “Where’s your commander?” he asked.

“He had the night squad in the stables,” came the answer.

Steve glanced at Robert in question. Robert shook his head, dragging a finger across his throat. “I’ll be keeping you all separate for now,” he said, “but I’ll have my doctor see to any of the badly wounded. If anyone tries to leave, you will be stopped.”

With that final warning, the door was pulled closed with a loud slam, the damage done to it requiring more force than usual.

“Robert, stay on this door,” Steve ordered. “I’ll send some people to help you secure it soon.”

“Aye ser.”

Steve was already striding away, heading for the stables. “Draga, back to Yorick, fill him in on what happened. Henry should be close, and I want a rider sent to him and to the rest of the company. Tell Keladry to bring them inside the walls and begin processing what we have.”

“Captain,” Draga said, wheeling his horse around and cantering north.

Getting a move on towards the stables, Steve tempered his concern with cautious optimism. The camp hadn’t been taken clean, but it had been taken, and now it was just a matter of cleaning it up.

X

“How bad is it?” Steve asked. His arms were folded across his chest, and the room stank of horse.

“It’s bad,” Corivo said. He didn’t look up, keeping his head out of the light cast by the torch that Ren was holding for him. “Though, it could be worse.”

On a bench before him, made from crates and covered in spare canvas, a man lay, one pant leg cut off and used as a rag to soak up blood. He was grimacing in pain as Corivo worked on the deep wound in his leg with needle and thread, sweat beading on his forehead.

“How’s the pain Ed?” Steve asked. The blond man had been with him since the adventure in the mountains, and now he was in the Reach with a sword wound through his thigh.

“Not as bad as your marching songs,” Ed said. He tried to grin, but only managed to make his beard twitch.

“Now you’re just being mean spirited,” Steve said. “Want another dose?”

“Well, if you insist,” Ed said.

Carefully, Steve held the wineskin for him, and Ed craned his neck up to sip at the Arbor Gold it held.

“Seems wrong,” Ed said, “to kill a man and then steal his wine.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” Humfrey said, standing at the foot of the makeshift bench. “You were too busy cursing him out while I killed him.”

Rather than carry the wounded man somewhere, the doctor had been brought to Ed, and the stable turned into a makeshift workspace for the Myrman. Also present in the room was the corpse of the camp commander, still in his gambeson and chain, though his face was a bloody mess.

“I woulda had him,” Ed argued. He sucked in a breath as Corivo tightened his stitches.

“Bandage,” Corivo said, and Ren handed them over. The doctor guided Ed to raise his leg enough so the wound could be wrapped and the man did so, groaning.

“What’s this complaining?” Steve asked. “Anyone would think you’d been stabbed.”

Ed laughed, only to groan again. “Yeah, could be worse. Could be out of the war entirely.”

There was a long moment where no one answered.

The wounded man lost what humour he had, and he fought to push himself up. “But you said it could be worse-!”

“‘Worse’ is you bleeding out before the fight is over,” Corivo said, still wrapping the wound. “There is an artery - well. It was not cut, and you are alive.”

Ed grew paler, and let himself fall back against the bench. “What will I do? If I can’t fight-”

“-then you’re still a member of the company,” Steve said. “You’ll heal. It’ll just take time.” He glanced over at Corivo, and the man tilted his head fractionally one way then another. “Even if you don’t get back full movement, you’re still covered by my guarantee.”

A tension seemed to ease from the man, and he nodded. “What do I do in the meanwhile then?”

“Well, much as I’m sure Walt would love to have you doing his busywork,” Steve said, and Ed froze, “you’ve got the kind of steady hands that I think Corivo would find useful in an assistant.”

Corivo paused in his work, looking up.

“If Corivo is amenable to that, that is,” Steve said.

“Assistant,” Corivo said, looking like he’d like to stroke his moustache but for the blood on his hands. “This word, it is not the one before journeyman and master?”

“No, that’s apprentice,” Steve said.

“Hmm,” Corivo said. He resumed his bandaging, tying it off. “He could be useful, in one or two weeks, once he can stand easily.”

“I would - yes, thank you ser,” Ed said.

“That’s sorted then,” Steve said. He handed over the wineskin. “Make sure you enjoy this. Ren, you shadow Corivo until he doesn’t need you, then go find Keladry. We’ll stay here tomorrow - today - and set off the day after, once we’re rested.”

Ed bowed his head as best he could while lying down.

“Yes Captain,” Ren said, with a little more intensity than was warranted, but Steve was used to it.

“Humfrey, walk with me,” Steve said. He turned and left the stables behind, and after a moment of surprise, Humfrey followed.

The camp had well and truly been captured now, two sentries in each corner tower and a squad at the docks. The barracks were under guard, and some of the warehouse tents had been rearranged so that the troops could get some sleep without needing to do more work than was needed. Quiet conversations drifted through the camp as the excitement of the night came to an end.

Steve walked down the main camp lane, heading north, and Humfrey walked with him, behind at first, but at his side once Steve nudged him forward. While not as big as the likes of Hugo or the twins, he was still a broad shouldered man, and the training and food had seen him fill out well. With the moon no longer obscured by clouds, his scalp almost shone in its light.

“So, you killed the commander,” Steve said as they walked.

Humfrey glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “Not my first kill.”

“No, that would be those clansmen that raided your home,” Steve said.

Humfrey grunted.

“You had a spear then, right?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” Humfrey said. “Walt taught us.”

Steve was quiet, boots crunching in the dirt as they went.

“Not as good as Keladry, I don’t think anyone is,” Humfrey added, filling the silence.

“Keladry’s one of the best I’ve seen with a polearm,” Steve said. “You didn’t use a spear on the commander.”

“No, I -” he cut himself off, swallowing the explanation he was going to give.

“Saw the knight’s face,” Steve said. “Didn’t die particularly well.”

“No ser,” Humfrey said. His hands, bruised and scabbing, flexed gingerly.

They reached the north gate, and came to a stop. The river was visible from there, the gates open, and a section of the trees on either side of the two small piers had been cut down. For a moment, Steve just watched the reflection of the moon on its flat surface.

“I thought he killed him,” Humfrey said. “Ed.” He ran a hand over his scalp.

“Walt tells me that you and Ed are cousins,” Steve said.

“You spoke - right. Yeah,” Humfrey said.

“The problem isn’t that you killed him,” Steve said at length. “This is war. It’s not even that you beat him to death. Do you know what it is?”

Humfrey set his mouth in a grimace and nodded. “Yes Captain.”

Steve waited.

“I didn’t need to kill him. I could have stopped,” Humfrey said, scar pulling at his eye. “I was just - angry.”

“I know anger,” Steve said, and something in his tone made Humfrey swallow, even though he knew it wasn’t directed at him.

“I can step down from squad leader,” Humfrey said. “There’s a few lads who would be-”

“What will you do next time?”

“Ser?”

“Next time someone in your squad gets hurt, or killed,” Steve said. “You’ve only got the one cousin, but I know one of your friends is in your squad, and the others will become just as close over the war. What will you do then?”

“I’ll…I’d stop,” Humfrey said.

“Would you?” Steve asked. He turned away from the river, looking Humfrey in the eye. “Would you stop?”

Humfrey met his gaze. “I would, ser.”

Steve watched him for a few long heartbeats, taking his measure. Humfrey swallowed, but didn’t look away. “I believe you,” he said. “Get your squad sorted and bunked down for the night. We’ll deal with the camp in the morning.”

Humfrey let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Yes Captain.” He turned, heading into the camp. He was a few paces away when the Captain’s voice called out again.

“Humfrey?”

He turned, heart skipping a beat.

“You’ve given me your word,” Steve said.

Humfrey nodded, once, and the look in his eye said he understood what he had given. Steve turned back to the river, letting him go, and listened as his footsteps faded. The moon was bright, and the reflection was picturesque on the river.

It had been a long day.

X x X

A day and a night later, Steve and his soldiers rode west, and behind them they left a tall column of smoke. It was the smoke of the camp walls, of the gates, of the towers, the buildings, of every last crate of grain or drained barrel. Spare weapons and armour had been thrown on to blacken and warp, even the supply boats had their masts cut down and their oars removed to add to the conflagration. By the time the fire had burnt itself out, nothing would remain of use to any passing army. What horses the camp had were requisitioned, the best of the supplies taken to top up their stores, and the prisoners left in the field outside, left without shoes and with just enough supplies of their own to reach civilisation if they stretched them.

Sullen eyes watched as they went, shadowed by the growing smoke, but the men of the Reach were beaten and they knew it. They could only watch as the column of riders rode west, white star banner flapping at its head. Watch, and know that they would not be the last to fall victim to them.

On the advice of Walt and the other experienced campaigners, they stayed away from the river as they travelled, keeping to smaller paths. At times, the trails they followed narrowed to the point that they could only travel in single file, but the decision proved fruitful a day after leaving the camp, when a group of fifty men were seen marching east, likely making for the fading remains of the smoke column that still lingered. Warned by outriders, they were able to watch, concealed, as the small force passed by.

“They can’t have come from too far away,” Steve said, laying near the top of the hill his troops were hiding behind, looking down.

“Carrying their vittles with them, not overloaded, no wagon,” Walt said. “Gotta be another holdfast within a day’s ride.”

“We should drop in on them,” Steve said. He began to crawl back down the hill until he could stand without fear of being seen. “Robin, stay here and keep watch, then come get me when they’re gone.”

The holdfast was nearby, and without the extra men garrisoned there, there was little it could do when Steve led a charge through the gates. It was almost becoming rote, the securing of the bailey and the forced surrender of the defenders. Rote also was the destruction of supplies and war goods, and familiar was the look on the face of the landed knight. Less familiar was the way they lingered in the small settlement, just long enough for the force of fifty to return to be ambushed. Tired from days of marching to bring word of the destroyed camp, they were overwhelmed and outmanoeuvred without loss of life, something that Steve considered a personal achievement.

They had brought with them some few of the men captured at the camp, and it was those men who had the pleasure of surrendering to the white star banner for a second time. Steve tried not to find amusement in the looks on their faces, but he was a good man, not a great one. Shoes were confiscated, horses were seized, and again they marched west, looking for more trouble to cause.

Five days later, the small paths and trails they were following folded back into the main road by the river. Steve ordered extra screening riders as a precaution, but the sky was blue, and there were purple flowers growing in the fields. Despite their business, there was still beauty to be found, and Steve found himself enjoying the day. When Naerys rode up to join him, the day only improved.

“Naerys,” Steve said as she fell in beside him. He had been riding with Robin, but the kid had seen her coming, and dropped back without comment.

“Steve,” Naerys said. “What are you smiling about?”

“Well, I was just wondering if the view could get any better, and then it did.”

Two spots of colour bloomed in Naerys’ cheeks, and she gave him an arch look. “Is that the way a captain should be speaking to his quartermaster?”

Steve didn’t answer, just gazing at her for a few long heartbeats.

“Steve?” Naerys asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Steve said. “I was distracted by the way the sun is shining on your hair.”

There was a snicker behind them.

“Steve!” Naerys said, blush brightening.

“Naerys,” Steve said.

“Behave,” she said, but her eyes darted to his lips for a split second. “You too Robin.”

The snickering stopped.

“Yeah Robin, behave,” Steve said. “What brings you up here?”

“I’ve finished reading through what we found at the supply depot,” Naerys said, ignoring his cheek. “Putting the pieces together with what we copied at the holdfasts, I think I’ve got a hold on the plan for the supply situation, in this region at least.”

“Lay it on me,” Steve said, all business.

“They were expecting another three months of shipments at the depot,” Naerys said, “at which point the camp would be abandoned in stages.”

“You think the Reach army is expected in three months then?”

“No!” Naerys said. “I mean, at first I did, but then I thought that the army won’t be running their supplies down to the gristle before resupplying, not with how well organised they are otherwise, so why would they arrive and pick it all up in one go?” Her tone was excited, like she had solved a puzzle.

“So?” Steve asked, leading.

“Between how much space they had set aside, and when they had planned to start breaking it down, how much they had in the holdfasts we took and how much those lordly troops were carrying on themselves, I think as much as half the supplies from the depot are going to be sent on to Reach forces after they invade the Stormlands,” Naerys said, voice in a rush.

“Supplied over land?” Steve asked, frowning in consideration. “That’s a long way for a supply train.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Naerys said. “But they don’t need to supply far, just far enough - say, any Reach forces that stay in the western Stormlands, far from resupply by sea.”

“Huh,” Steve said, thinking as Brooklyn plodded onwards. “Extending their operational ability without relying on what they can carry, or overburdening them.” He thought it over. “How long then? Until the Reach army rolls through.”

“A month and a half, two months,” Naerys said. “Best I could narrow it down to. I need to check again when we make camp,” she said, as if warding off high expectations. “But I think I’ve worked it out.”

“Your reasoning sounds solid,” Steve said. “We’ll sit down and check it, but I think this might be reason to break out the Arbor.”

“Ser Rogers, I think you just want an excuse to share some wine with me,” Naerys said.

“It’s not mulled wine,” Steve said, recalling an evening spent atop a cold tower in warm company, “but I won’t deny it.”

Naerys’ eyes seemed to flash purple as they traced his shoulders. “Maybe we could find a blanke-” she suddenly seemed to remember they weren’t quite alone. She coughed. “-some blank parchment and go over my numbers.”

Steve had a moment to think of what Naerys might want to do with him and a blanket, but he was rescued from the rabbithole his mind was about to go down when one of their outriders rounded a bend ahead at a good canter. “Head back to the other non-combatants,” he said, tone just short of brusque.

Switching tracks as quickly as he did, Naerys was already nudging her horse around, though she left him with one final look that made it clear where her mind had been going.

The scout arrived, and though they had ridden fast, they did not look worried or concerned, and Steve found himself more annoyed at the interruption than anything. “Captain,” they said.

“What’s the word son?”

“Bridge ahead, across the Blueburn,” he said. “No one there, but it’s a solid one. Two wagons wide.”

“Sounds like a major crossing,” Steve said.

“That’s what Erik said,” the scout said. “He wants to know if we’ll be passing by, or doing something about it.”

“Evidence of our passage and disruption, or leave them guessing and ease of travel,” Steve said, considering.

“How deep was the river there?” Robin asked, rejoining him.

“Might be shallow enough to make river passage difficult with the rubble,” the scout said. “Couldn’t tell.”

“We’ll destroy it,” Steve decided. They were here to impede Reach forces, and a lack of bridges was mighty helpful in that. There had been other bridges passed in the days prior, but none as sturdy or wide as this one sounded. “What’s the bridge like?”

The scout answered his questions as they rode, telling of the aged stone bridge, of crumbling capstones and solid roadway, and in less than half an hour, they had arrived. The column swelled in on itself, gathering at the bridge. It was as described, old stonework that had seen better days, two spans wide.

“I want a patrol picket out on each bank,” Steve ordered, his squad commanders gathered close enough to hear. “When we’re ready to bring the bridge down you’ll be contacted, and we’ll proceed on the north bank.”

Erik and Walt were quick to give orders to their squads, and the riders departed in a flurry of hoofbeats.

“Now,” Steve said to those left, “who wants to learn how to take out a bridge quickly and effectively?”

Robin was the first taker, perhaps remembering Steve’s lessons on irregular warfare, but there was no shortage of interest, and soon Steve was leading a small group of less than a dozen as they picked over the bridge, pointing out the keystone and other vulnerable points. They even doffed their armour at one point, swimming under the bridge for a better look, an event of great interest to Betty’s girls. Steve held his tongue when he saw some of his lads flexing and stretching more than strictly necessary, though he did share a look with Betty when Ursa affected a swoon as they emerged from the water.

Inspection complete, Steve regarded the stone structure. The bad news was that it was constructed fairly well some time ago, and its bricks had long since fused. The good news was that it was constructed fairly well some time ago, and had not seen much maintenance recently.

“Normally,” Steve said to his small group, “I’d suggest using thermal changes to weaken and crack the stone, but I don’t want to wait around that long or advertise our position.”

“Thermal changes?” Gerold asked.

“Build a bonfire on the bridge, then douse it all at once,” Steve explained. “Going from hot to cold so quickly will damage the stone.” There was likely firewood aplenty to be found in the trees that lined the river, but that would take time to gather on top of the other problems.

“How will we do it then?” Ren asked. She hadn’t joined them in the swimming, sent away by Steve on a quick errand during it.

Steve grinned, and suddenly they were having second thoughts. “We’re going to use some good old fashioned elbow grease. Ren, where did you put those hammers?”

They were more mallets than hammers, but along with some metal tent pegs, they would be useful tools in cracking the top layer of the bridge to get at the keystones. The company was already mostly on the north bank, but those that weren’t were directed over, and a rider sent to warn the south patrol, and the work began.

It was boring work, and sweaty too as the sun rose to its zenith, but the river was right there and provided pleasant relief. Steve kept at it, his hand almost finished healing, but he had the others rotate out after a time. They were still in enemy territory, and the company behaved as such, but Keladry took the chance to run a training session, and he saw his slingers break off for a swim a small ways upriver, still in sight but far enough for some privacy.

Come the afternoon, the first chunk of stone fell into the river with a great splash, and there was a cheer. With the first hole made, the rest would come easier. For that section, at least. Encouraged by the first success, the work resumed enthusiastically, eager to be done. Soon, more splashes followed, as the bridge sections between pier and shore fell victim to their efforts. Destroying the pier itself was beyond simple effort, but any force that wished to cross the river would have to find another crossing, or affect makeshift repairs.

As their sabotage was nearing completion, a rider approached at a gallop from the west, drawing attention from those on watch. Steve was quick to jump the gap in the bridge, walking out to the middle of the road to await their arrival.

“Boat approaching from downriver Captain,” the scout said. “Twelve aboard, looks like a supply run. Don’t think they saw me.”

“Good work,” Steve said. “But I think the jig is about to be up. Let’s scram.”

The destruction wasn’t completed to his full satisfaction, but the job was done well enough that it would be a trouble for any passing army to mitigate, even if it was likely the coming boat would be able to nose through the rubble that had been dumped into the river.

The company, never completely comfortable as they waited for the work to be done, was quick to mount up and flee the scene of the sabotage. The north side of the bridge was a four way intersection, and they headed straight north, swiftly leaving the river behind. Though they maintained discipline, the column took on the air of a group of cocksure schoolboys, confident that they had gotten away with some kind of mischief.

“What would you have done if the scout hadn’t seen them coming?” Ren asked from behind him. She rode beside Robin, bearing the white star standard as always, though it was furled and held low at that moment.

“I guess I would have had a chat with them,” Steve said, glancing back. “Told them I was doing bridge maintenance.”

“Maintenance?” Ren asked.

“How is what we did maintenance?” Robin asked, almost at the same time.

“Well, there’s a pair of holes in the bridge, isn’t there?” Steve asked, face full of innocent confusion. “Someone ought to maintain that.”

Both screwed their faces up in confusion at his words, only to turn to disgust as they caught on. He couldn’t help but laugh, the sound carrying along the column. The soldiers may not have known what caused it, but they did know who it came from, laughing deep in enemy territory, and if he asked them to, they would follow him to Highgarden.

X

The further west they travelled, the more their scouts proved worth their value. Short days after destroying the bridge, they carried word of an infantry column in the company’s path, forty strong, and Steve called a halt to decide how they would deal with it. Curiously, they were not travelling east, but west along the Blueburn, and had with them three wagons.

“What do we suppose they’re doing?” Steve asked. He stood in a small circle with his squad leaders, the rest of the company also dismounted, giving the horses a break from the weight and the men a chance to stretch their legs.

“Can’t be running from us,” Yorick said. “They should not even know of our presence.”

“Consolidating forces perhaps?” Henry said, though he sounded doubtful.

“Could be shuffling troops, on their way to join a garrison,” Walt said.

“Zep said they seemed to be unhurried,” Keladry said, speaking of the scout to spot them.

“We could ask them,” Erik suggested, smirking faintly.

“Hey, we could ask them,” Steve said. “Prep your men for combat. We’ll hit them with a rolling charge, squad by squad…”

Word was spread and orders were given. It was Henry’s turn to stay with the noncombatants, a duty that few liked but all understood the necessity of. By squads they formed up, Steve at the forefront upon Fury, the white warhorse stamping eagerly, sensing its rider’s intent.

Steve checked the straps on his shield one last time. He still wasn’t happy with how it sat with its ‘repairs’, but the extra cover was worth it. “No war cries!” he called. “I don’t want them to know we’re coming until they can hear our hoofbeats. Keladry, you’re in second after me. Walt, you bring up the rear, and police their surrender. If they don’t, we’ll wheel about and make another pass.”

Keladry tilted her head in acknowledgement, lowered armet helm and glaive giving her a look of clean lethality.

“Aye,” Walt said.

Steve spun his hammer, loosening his arm, and gave one last look to Naerys. She sat ahorse with the rest of the noncombatants in the lee of a nearby hill, just off the road. She raised her chin, a proud confidence in her gaze, and gave him a nod. He returned it, then turned away, and led his men west through the fields.

Fury snorted as he broke into a canter, hooves beating at the dirt road. He could hear the flap of his banner, and the hooves of his squad in two rows behind him. They ate up the path before them, and in no time at all, they were rounding a bend to see the rear of their prey. The wagons were in the middle of the formation, each pulled by two draught horses; there was a wide field to their right, and thick trees to their left, but also the river. Steve barely had to touch his heels to Fury’s flanks, and the destrier was charging. In one of the few formations they had practised, his men spread out behind him, forming a wedge. He knew that Robin was behind him at his right shoulder, and Ren slightly further back on his left, and his focus narrowed until it was centred on his target.

They were almost upon them before they were noticed. The last pair in the column turned, staring for a startled heartbeat before screaming an alarm. There was a ripple of movement, as those ahead turned to see what had caused it, the same look of alarm and fear crossing their faces as they beheld what bore down on them. Some turned to the trees, but there was no time, and then they were on them.

Those at the rear had had the time to understand their situation, getting their shields off their backs and readying spears, but they were few, and Steve was ready. He leaned forward and almost out of his saddle, shield held low in front of Fury to catch the spears, while his hammer came across his body to rake at the shields as he charged past. What defence they had mustered was torn open, vulnerable to those who came after, but he had no time for his thoughts to linger on them. Fury thundered along the column, barging troops out of the way as much as Steve was knocking them down with his hammer held in place. He had thought to weave through the line, leaving it in disarray in his wake, but he was forced to swing around the wagons almost before he could blink, and barely had time to angle his wedge back into the column before they were through it and clear.

He let Fury’s charge peter out as he began to turn about, wheeling into the open field, but he was hardly concerned about the column, not anymore, not with men throwing down their spears or sprinting for the river. His mind was elsewhere, taken there by what he had seen in the wagons. Not weapons, or crates of supplies. It was horse feed, and one wagon was almost empty. Maybe they had come a long way, the feed used on the draught horses.

But maybe they hadn’t.

“Yorick!” Steve shouted. The knight had just finished his own charge, third in line, though it was hardly needed. The column was thoroughly shattered now, some few managing to make it to the river, but now Walt was leading his squad between the road and the treeline, preventing more from fleeing. Between him and the other squads, most of the troops had thrown down their weapons, the fight over.

“Captain?” Yorick shouted back, peeling away from the road and towards him.

“They had a mounted detachment,” Steve said grimly as he neared. “Ride hard for the others. Bring them here immediately.”

Yorick wasted no time, kicking his horse into a charge with a shouted, “On me!”, adding to the dust cloud of the short skirmish as he and his squad galloped back the way they came.

“Walt, I want them on their bellies on the road!” Steve called. “Find out how many cavalry they have!”

The old soldier was quick to obey, herding them away from the trees and into a crowd, bellowing orders and curses. The defeated men were prodded about at spear tip, stumbling and still shocked from the charge.

“Single line, shoulder to shoulder,” Steve said to his men and woman. “If they come upon us as we’re disorganised, we form a wedge and ride straight at them.”

No response was given, not verbally, as his squad followed his orders, forming up with their backs to the path and the river. The field was open before them, but at the far side it rose into a hill. If an ambush had been planned with the infantry as bait, it was a decent location, if not the best, but he had no time for judging its drawbacks. His mind was on the countdown, counting how long it would take Yorick to return to the noncombatants, convey his orders, and return at speed.

The defeated were laying on the road and well guarded by the time his count was half done, the wait twisting something in his gut. Those few who had fled across the river were long out of hearing, escaped, but still he counted. The company waited, silent but for the stamping of horses as word had spread.

Walt rode up. “Fifteen mounted men,” he reported grimly. Beyond him, close enough to hear, Keladry wasn’t much better, her bearing as stone. For all the expression she wore, she might as well have left her visor closed.

Steve only nodded, continuing to count the seconds. Every moment, he hoped to see enemy riders appear over the hills, but none came. So too did the road remain empty.

His count hit zero, and then kept going, stretching out. Still, there were no riders, not even hoofbeats carried on the wind. He strangled a curse in his throat. “Arland,” he said, grabbing the attention of a knight in his squad. “If enemies appear, you take point. Keladry has command.” He leant forward, and Fury took his meaning, turning down the road and surging into a gallop.

The ride back to where they had left their noncombatants passed quickly and far too slow, and then he was rounding the last turn in the path. He saw what he feared.

Riderless horses trotted freely, and the skirmish seemed to have devolved into a fight on foot. Henry was bashing a knight’s head in with his war pick, blood on his face. More corpses on the ground froze his breath in his chest, but then he saw them properly, and he exhaled. Fear for those he cared about had a way of making it harder to think, but he really should have remembered that the noncombatants included Toby and every spare horse they had. Beneath him, Fury slowed, but he still arrived at a fair clip as the skirmish ended. Yorick and one of his men, Mamand, were laying into one man, battering open his defences, but he had little time for that. His eyes roved around, looking for Naerys.

He found her. She stood over the corpses of two men, eyes blazing and sword wet with their blood. She looked up at his arrival, and met his gaze.

In that moment he wanted nothing more than to go to her and take her in his arms. She read him, and her look darkened with desire of her own. For a moment, he considered it, but then reason prevailed and he forced himself away after a lingering glance, looking over the rest of the field. He saw Betty and her girls all still ahorse, Lyanna with them and far from what had been the fight, but every other member of the company present had been involved in some way.

One was dead, their throat torn open, and Steve let out a slow sigh, even as his heartbeat eased. It was Arnulf, a young man-at-arms, face slack and pale in death. He came to a stop before him, dismounting, and he wasn’t the only one.

“They came from behind,” Henry said, voice ragged. “By the time we noticed them, they were already on us. They were just as surprised as us.” Blood trickled down from the cut over his brow, and he blinked rapidly as some got in his eye.

Steve felt the familiar guilt settle in his stomach. They had come far without a death, but they were never going to go all the way. “It must have been a ranging patrol. Just some damned bad luck for our scouts and theirs to miss each other.”

“I tried to pretend we were escorting horses to Highgarden, but…” Henry said, trailing off helplessly. “Their leader moved before I could react. Yorick arrived right as they attacked.”

They both glanced at the knight with the caved in helm, victim to Henry’s pick.

“You did what you could,” Steve said. “One man lost, against fifteen.”

“I know,” Henry said. “And yet.”

And yet.

“Get Arnulf on his horse,” Steve said at last. “We’re rejoining the others.” The enemy could lay where they fell for now. His people came first, and theirs could see to them.

They gathered and turned west, moods lowered despite the victory. Reality could be a bitter draught.

X

That night, they made camp in the remnants of a village, years since abandoned. The remaining houses were only skeletons, some overgrown with vines, but there was room enough for tents to be erected and fire pits dug. The daylight was beginning to fade as the company saw to their horses, spares waiting with uncanny patience for their turn, and fed with the spoils of the day’s skirmish. The camp lacked the cheer and morale that they were used to, the subdued mood of Arnulf’s friends spreading after his burial underneath a nearby oak tree.

Once camp had been made, and duties attended to, Steve had a quiet word with his squad leaders, and they gathered in the centre of the village, what had once been an intersection. Seeing their leaders, the rest of the company began to filter through the camp towards them, and dusk had just arrived when all were assembled, waiting and watching their leader quietly. There were no torches, the risk too much when they knew that enemy units were on the move through the countryside, but the moon shone down on them. Those closest to Steve sat or squatted down so that those beyond could see, and he turned, surveying them all.

“We lost one of our own today,” the captain said, voice piercing the silence. “We knew it would come, what we all signed up for, but that doesn’t make it easy.”

An owl hooted nearby, but that was the only sound.

“He will not be the last,” Steve said, not grim, but final. “This is war. No matter how hard we fight, there will be losses. All we can do is remember those who fall, and do right by those they leave behind.”

Nods came, and looks were shared in the crowd, friends meeting one another’s eyes.

“Arnulf leaves behind his mother and older sister, back in the Vale,” Steve said. “They will receive his pay so far, and as I promised, a year’s wage on top. If you fall, your family will not be forgotten.”

Spines straightened, and some of the malaise that shrouded the company was cast off. Metal brushed on metal as Steve inspected the dog tags he held in his hand. He looked up, gauging the mood, and let a wry smile come over his face.

“Arnulf couldn’t manage a proper plank if there was money riding on it.”

Sharp exhalations, shocked and amused, rose from amongst the crowd.

“I once saw him flexing as he tried to impress a prostitute in Gulltown for a discount,” Steve continued, and now there was scattered laughter. “I also saw him take on a greater burden on a hellmarch to give the man next to him a break, and he was quick to help up anyone who fell.” Smiles began to grow, tentative and faint, but growing all the same. “Who else wants to share some words?”

Henry stepped forward from the crowd, and Steve tossed the dog tags to him. The knight caught them, looking down at them for a moment. “Walt, Arnulf was the one who put goose feathers in your bedroll,” he said.

A brief furor rose, mock outrage and hidden glee as others remembered the day Walt had arrived for training with feathers in his hair. “He got us double laps for that!” someone cried.

“Ye deserved it, too,” Walt grumbled, though even he was smiling.

Another man rose, and Henry tossed the dog tags to him. “Arnulf helped me with my spear work, showed me ‘ow to cut grooves in the haft for me grip. He also owed me a night of latrine duty, but I spose he’s gotten out of that.” More laughter, and the sombre mood was pushed back.

Again someone else stepped up, and again the dog tags were passed on. Those who had come to know Arnulf spoke, sharing stories, and the pain of the loss was eased by cheer and memories. A new tradition was born that night, and when the company gathering broke up, it was with a burden lifted and reaffirmed resolve, each man secure in the knowledge that their leader would watch out for them. More would fall, but this was war, and they were soldiers. Captain America’s soldiers.

X x X

Further west they went, carving a path ever deeper into the Reach. Holdfasts were raided, and a minor supply dump burned, Steve and his men surely throwing what was a nicely ordered logistics operation into chaos and disarray. For all the skill with which it had been organised, little thought seemed to have been given to the possibility of an enemy force throwing a wrench into it. Of course, Steve’s particular brand of disruption was not one easily foreseen. A large, slow army would see scattered forces brought together to resist it, and a messy and loud raiding force would have been hunted down. Captain America’s men were neither.

In a moment of daring, Steve split his company in two, trusting half to Keladry and Walt, while he led the other. That week, two holdfasts were sacked - one on the north side of the Blueburn, as swiftly and professionally as always, and one on the south side, perhaps slightly less professionally. Crucially, a single mount was somehow missed by the forces of Lord America as they confiscated war material and burned supplies, kept hidden by a fearful young stablehand, and when the white star banner was seen departing to the south, that same stablehand was dispatched upon it with a warning and call to arms. As cunning as the raiders were, word was beginning to spread and their luck was waning. The valiant knights of the Reach would soon bring battle to them in the fields between the Blueburn and Cockleswhent.

Several days and another destroyed bridge later, Steve reunited with his companions and company north of the Blueburn. Dusk threatened as they reached the rendezvous, but bubbling stew and a warm reception awaited them, as Steve and his squads arrived at the camp established by Keladry and hers. None received a reception so warm as Steve himself, as Naerys swept out of her tent to lay claim to his lips before all and sundry, earning whistles and hoots from their audience. Steve blushed like a maid but gave as good as he got, ending the moment by dipping her deeply. Morale, already high, was sent bubbling over, and many were the men who retrieved this or that treat they had been saving, and an almost festive atmosphere fell over the camp as the sun faded.

An old, old ruined holdfast hosted them that night, its walls hardly the height of a man’s shoulders save what remained of a tower, and it sat atop a small hill. It commanded a good view of the surrounds, and a tributary of the Blueburn twined along its base before disappearing into nearby woods. The stars shone prettily in the sky that night, the temperature warm enough to be mistaken for spring, and Steve decided it was high time he stole a moment to take his lady on a date.

When Steve poked his head into the tent that Naerys was working in, she was finishing a discussion with Betty and Corivo by the light of a lantern, and all three looked up at his arrival. “Hello there,” he said. “If you’re not in the middle of something, I’m going to steal Naerys.”

Betty turned a gimlet eye on him, but there was a hint of humour hidden within. “Way I saw it earlier, she was the one doing the stealing.”

“We were just finishing,” Naerys said, doing her best to ignore the smirk Corivo was sharing with Betty. “There’s just a few things left, and-”

“Oh no,” Corivo said. “We can manage, I am sure. I would hate to keep you from important matters.” Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Naerys pulled a face at their teasing, but rose from her seat all the same. “What do you need, Steve?”

“You,” Steve said, and her ears flushed red. He stepped into the tent proper, revealing what he held. “How do you feel about a stroll around the walls?”

She reached out to the shawl he offered, turning it over in her hands. “Where on earth did you get this?”

“Bought it from a weaver at the holdfast I took,” Steve said. “Thought it would match your eyes.”

“It’s lovely,” Naerys said, rubbing the fine wool between her fingers. Somehow, that shifted to trailing her fingers over his wrist, gliding towards his elbow. The presence of their audience seemed to have slipped her mind, and if he couldn’t see them watching with amused interest, it would have slipped Steve’s too.

He coughed, and she came back to herself. “I, yes, a stroll would be lovely. Don’t,” she said in warning, aimed over her shoulder.

Heavyset Vale washerwoman and slim Myrman said nothing, but the expressions they wore spoke volumes. Steve tipped his head to them as he held the tent flap open for Naerys. He was glad to see how his company had come together. He heard them begin to gossip as he stepped out after his dame, but his attention had better places to be.

Naerys smiled up at him as she settled the faint lavender shawl on her shoulders. It did match her eyes, even if the workmanlike dress wasn’t quite suited to it. “How is it?”

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

She slapped his chest lightly, but it was revealed as a ruse to work herself under his arm, snuggling into his right side. They began to walk through the camp, making for what had once been the gate.

“Oh, you mean the shawl,” Steve said, fake realisation colouring his tone. “I think you’re beautiful.”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” Naerys grumbled, but she hid her face in his chest as she said it.

Steve took the chance to lay a kiss atop her head, earning a squeeze from the arm around his waist. Around them, men glanced up as they passed, though the usual greetings and short chats that would spring up around him were absent. He saw one of Betty’s girls, Ursa, poking her finger into Henry’s chest in the middle of a small group around a fire, but all were grinning at whatever she was saying. A watch stood as it must, but otherwise the camp was full of cheer, of friends and comrades catching up after time apart and sharing stories. Robin and Lyanna were nestled together much like he and Naerys were, sharing a pouch of candied ginger that the squire had managed to squirrel away.

“...not dare bring my lady love to war,” someone murmured nearby, the speaker not counting on Steve’s keen hearing.

“You think the captain is going to let anything happen to her? She’s likely safer here.”

“You know what I mean. It’s war. You remember the stories my father told.”

“I remember what happened in Pentos for a man fresh recruited, and then what she did in that ambush…”

The low conversation between two knights slipped out of hearing as they walked through what was once the gate. There was a man perched atop the rubble, keeping an eye on the fields, and he shared a nod with Steve as they went by, turning left. A faint game trail traced the outside of the walls, and they began to follow it. Crickets chirped, and a soft breeze blew, carrying with it the scent of flowers. They could hear the sound of the camp on the other side of the wall, but for the moment, they had at least the illusion of privacy.

“I worried for you, while you went south,” Naerys said, easing her hold on him so she could glance up to meet his eyes. They walked slowly, taking their time and simply enjoying the warm presence of the other.

“If the campaign wasn’t going so well, I wouldn’t have suggested the split,” Steve admitted. “I still didn’t like it, but it was for the better.” The company members that Steve had taken south were strictly combat only, and they had ridden hard and without rest to pull off the ruse.

“I know,” Naerys said. “I still worried. Better they think us moving south, than guessing we’re still north of the river.”

“This war won’t kill me,” Steve told her. “I’ll make it back to you. Whatever it takes.” He’d gone down with too many ships, and lost much and risked more to want to do it again. He would be better.

They stopped, and Naerys reached up to cup his cheek. “I know. And you’d better. Because if you don’t, I’ll tell Bucky on you when he eventually finds you here.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “I dread the day the two of you meet.”

“You’re a smart man,” Naerys said. She leaned into him, hands linking behind his neck.

“Well, I knew enough not to let you slip through my fingers, didn’t I?”

“Is that how it happened?” Naerys asked, faux puzzlement in her voice.

“Pretty sure,” Steve said. His hands went to her hips, tracing up and down her sides and threatening to dip lower. “Refresh my memory?”

Naerys pressed herself into him, and he allowed himself to be pushed back into the wall as her lips found his own. Both smiled into the kiss, remembering the day he had left the Vale for King’s Landing.

He traced circles at the small of her back, drawing the moment out, but the knowledge of the camp on the other side of the wall and the sentries keeping watch had him gather the will to pull back. His relationship with Naerys was well known through the company, but that wasn’t any reason to behave improperly in front of them. “That’d do it,” he said. “Consider me refreshed.”

“A pity you didn’t think to take me further than just beyond the camp,” Naerys said, pecking him on the cheek before drawing back. “We could have done more than refresh.”

Steve shifted at the promise in her words, hands tightening on her hips. She gave him a wicked smirk as she felt him stir, turning in his hold to rest her back against him, amongst other things. For a torturous moment, she took in the view as if she didn’t know what she was doing to him, before pushing off and away, using her hips. He followed instinctively, but she skipped away, dress swishing.

“You promised me a stroll, my lord,” she said, watching him from under demure lashes. She offered her arm, waiting.

“Don’t think I won’t take you over my knee,” Steve grumbled quietly to himself, but he was betrayed by the way his eyes followed her dress.

Not as quietly as he thought, however. “Provide me silk sheets, and we can talk,” Naerys said, putting an extra swish into her dress as she walked.

Steve prodded himself into action, sweeping up behind her and taking her arm. He felt light, like he might float away at any moment. If Naerys came with him, he didn’t think he’d mind. He couldn't wait to introduce her to Bucky.

Slowly, they made their way around the holdfast, taking the chance just to be close. There were no duties to see to, no risk of danger, and nothing that couldn’t wait until the morrow. They spoke of small things, inconsequential and teasing. The stars above were a sight to see, unveiled by any sort of light pollution, but they only had eyes for each other. They made three circuits of the old holdfast, and those that saw them couldn’t help but smile, seeing their Captain being so proper in his courting as they walked by, arm in arm.

The night could not last forever, and the point came where both knew they were on their last circuit. Teasing and soft touches fell away, the end of their brief reprieve looming.

“Steve,” Naerys said. Her hair was aglow as the moon illuminated her face, and there was a slight crease to her brow. “Something has been troubling you. Since we took the first supply camp.” She asked no questions after making the statement, leaving her offer unspoken.

“You remember the hammer I told you about, back in Braavos?” Steve asked.

Naerys blinked at the immediate reply, but nodded.

“Something is wrong with it. It’s…there’s an enchantment on it, so that only those deemed worthy can lift it,” he explained. He’d always thought it strange that Tony couldn’t lift it, but he supposed Asgardians held different values to humans. “Once you lift it, you can call it. Summon it. I’ve tried a few times since I arrived here, and I tried again before we hit that camp.”

A slow nod, but Naerys didn’t speak, waiting for him to find the words.

“Something burned me. Scored a line across my palm. Someone without my constitution - it wouldn’t have ended well,” Steve said.

“You think someone is tampering with it,” Naerys said. “Trying to subvert it.” Never let it be said she was slow of wit.

“I do,” Steve said. “If the wrong sort of person got control of it…”

“How bad would it be?” Naerys asked.

Steve considered it. “If someone in Westeros had Mjolnir when the Targaryens arrived with their dragons, they wouldn’t have conquered it.”

Naerys took a moment to absorb that. “Could you fight them?”

“Yes,” Steve said.

“Could you fight them and expect to win?” she asked, more pointedly.

He was quiet for a moment. “If I had my shield, and all they had was the hammer…maybe.”

“Do you know where the myeh - myoo - the hammer might be?”

“Not a clue,” Steve said, lips thinning.

With a slight touch at his elbow, Naerys brought them to a stop. “Is there anything you can do right now?”

Steve shook his head.

“Is there a way you could find out where it is?”

Again, he shook his head.

“Could it be used without it being obvious?”

“No,” Steve said, snorting without humour. “No, there’s no hiding it. Not the most subtle weapon.” Much like its wielder.

“Then all you can do is wait,” Naerys said. “When we know where it is, we can deal with it.”

He sighed. “It’s not-”

“Steve,” Naerys said. “We will deal with it. Maybe we can’t stand up to it, but we will help you when you do.” Blue eyes, tinted faintly with purple, watched him absorb her words. “You have done so much for us. Let us help you.”

“You’ve followed me to war,” Steve couldn’t help but point out.

“You pulled us all from such dismal lives,” Naerys said. “For that alone we would follow you.”

“If it wasn’t for all of you, I’d be neck deep in bloodshed,” Steve said. “Fighting and killing and - for a cause, but with no end to it.” He held her hand in his. “Don’t think I’m a saviour from on high. You know how much you’ve done for me.”

“I know,” Naerys said. “We know. So let us help you. You can’t change what is happening to the hammer now. When it appears, it appears. Until then, don’t borrow trouble.”

He managed a smile at that. “I’ve never been all that good at that.”

“You’d better learn, or I’ll have to distract you,” Naerys said, like it was a threat.

The seriousness of the moment broke. “Maybe next time we step out, I’ll take you to a peaceful glade. Somewhere with a bit of privacy.”

“Lord America!” Naerys said, one hand going to her bosom in affected shock, but then her face turned impish. “Perhaps if you’d thought to do so this eve, we could have had our privacy.”

There was no chance for seriousness after that, and sombre topics were left behind, though not forgotten. More kisses were stolen before the stroll ended, and if both were slightly mussed when Steve dropped Naerys off back at her tent room, no mention was made of it, though several knowing looks were shared. Both went to bed lighter at heart that night, even if they would each dream of silk sheets and a private room.

X

The next morning, the commander’s tent once again found itself host to a planning session, squad leaders and company commanders gathered within. Outside, camp was slowly being broken, but the decision on where they would ride had yet to be made.

“We’re at the stage where we need to decide how far we’re taking this,” Steve said, looking around. As before, he, Kel, and Walt were seated, while the squad leaders and Robin stood around them, but this time Naerys joined them, seated across from Steve. “We’ve made a nuisance of ourselves. Added weeks to the timetable of any invading force, and reduced the possible size of the prong that follows the Blueburn corridor.”

There was a moment of wordless congratulations, of confident grins and victorious nods shared, and Steve let it play out.

“This is where things get dicey,” he continued, as if he hadn’t led a force of one hundred odd men into the strongest of the Kingdoms and bearded them in their own den. “Due west, past a few more holdfasts, is a place called Grassfield Keep. It’s not like the forts we’ve hit so far. It’s a proper castle, with serious defences. There will be no blitzing it, and we’ll likely be outnumbered.”

“I’ve visited before,” Yorick volunteered. “It’s not the strongest castle to be seen, but I would be pleased to have its like for my home.”

“Thanks to Yorick, we know some of the layout,” Steve said, looking around. “We have enough uniforms for a small group that match men dispatched from there. We have time to cause some mischief to slip in. We’re not short of options.”

“Taking it would demand a response,” Walt said. “Force the enemy to react to you, and the job is half done.” It was obvious he favoured the idea. “Get word to Baratheon, and he won’t need to fu-aff about offering battle, or risk taking it on their terms.”

“We have to take it first,” Keladry said, hands clasped in her lap. “They don’t know our goals, but doing so would make them clear. If we leave them in the dark, Lord Baratheon could defeat the forces gathering before they know he’s coming.”

“If he can force them to accept the offered battle,” Walt said. He chewed the inside of his scarred cheek.

Keladry nodded. “If.”

“Holding the initiative has served us well so far,” Henry said cautiously.

“So has picking our fights,” Erik said.

Osric and Humfrey were quiet, watching and learning. So too was Robin.

“It comes down to risk,” Steve said. “We could turn east now, and link up with the Stormlands army. We’ve paved their way, and softened the target for them.” He held up one hand, as if weighing something, before doing the same with the other, balancing them. “But there’s more we could do to give them the chance to really damage the Reach forces.”

“Where is Lord Baratheon now?” Yorick asked.

“Assuming he kept to the schedule discussed, he should have entered the Reach a few days ago,” Steve said.

“We’d have to make contact with him,” Erik muttered. “Otherwise we’re just putting our, er, necks into the mill.”

“One squad riding hard could get word to him,” Henry said, arms crossed and foot tapping.

“That squad would have to be sent before we took the castle,” Keladry said. “To do otherwise would be to cut things fine, with the Reach army unseen.”

Steve again cursed the lack of radios, but c’est la vie.

“Risky, but well worth it,” Walt said.

“I wouldn’t put it on the table if it wasn’t possible, or the risks were too high,” Steve said. He looked around the tent. “I’ll be clear. We will not be besieging this castle. We will take it by hook or by crook, make sure the enemy knows it fell, and then get the heck out before they can come knocking.”

There were smirks at his certainty, and Henry bumped Yorick with his shoulder.

“If we take it and leave, what was the point of taking it?” Osric asked. He swallowed as everyone looked at him. “Ser.”

“Good question. Once we take it, they can’t afford not to respond,” Steve said. “Even a failed attack by a conventional army would see a force sent after them.” Many things were different in this new world, but the realities of war stayed the same.

“House Meadows are sworn directly to the Tyrells, too” Yorick added. “Lord Tyrell would look weak if he just sent a token force after us.”

“They won’t be able to trust any communication claiming everything is fine, either,” Steve said. “A castle like Grassfield Keep falling to a group our size? And then suddenly they just leave? No,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ll get the response we need, even if we have to play a few tricks once we take it.”

“Would I be right in saying you have a preference, Captain?” Yorick asked.

Steve paused, considering. “You would,” he said. “But I’ve called this meeting for a reason. This is a dangerous gambit I’m suggesting, and fatalities are likely.”

“Ye don’t win wars by leaving the enemy alone,” Walt said.

Erik blew air out between his lips. “Another company, I’d say it’s an overreach, but with the Captain…” He shrugged.

“We can do it,” Henry said. “Leaving now wouldn’t sit right.”

“Like leaving a job unfinished,” Humfrey said, and Henry pointed at him in agreement.

Osric was nodding too, caught up in the moment, and Steve looked to Keladry. She raised a reproachful brow in response, a silent suggestion that he was foolish to even ask. He made a face, acknowledging the point.

“What about the noncombatants?” Naerys asked. It was the first time she had spoken in the meeting.

“That will depend on the approach we choose to gain entry to Grassfield Keep,” Steve said, meeting her eyes. “We might send them east, or they might have a role to play. Volunteers only.”

Naerys frowned slightly, glancing at the other squad leaders.

“Toby stays with the horses,” Keladry said. It wasn’t a demand, just a statement of fact.

“Toby stays with the horses,” Steve agreed. He glanced back to Naerys. “If there’s a role for them to play, I’ll ask you to put it to them.” He knew what a request for volunteers would sound like, if he were the one to ask it.

Her frown eased. “That would be best.”

Steve leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees. “We won’t be hitting any of the holdfasts between here and Grassfield,” he said. “The longer they think we turned south, the better. We’ll make camp early this afternoon, and plan our approach. Use the ride to plot. Any questions?”

There was a moment of quietness, as the rest considered the path they had chosen to follow. It was a bold move, but then a deep raid into the Reach was not for the faint of heart, and they had come this far. Men looked to their comrades, and found that they were pleased to dare such with those beside them.

Keladry looked to Steve, steadfast as always. “No ser,” she said.

“I’ve got one,” Erik said. “Do yeh suppose they’ll write songs about this, after we pull it off?”

“If they do, I won’t be singing it,” Steve said flatly, and the seriousness of the moment broke.

“What if it’s a marching cadence?” Robin asked, piping up.

“...maybe,” Steve said.

He got to his feet amidst a chorus of mock groans, and the meeting broke apart, filtering out of the tent as those men on duty moved in to break it down. It was a skill well practised, breaking camp, and soon they were on their way once more, heading ever west.

X

A man approached the castle gates of Grassfield Keep, heavily armoured but alone. He bore a shield on one arm, a furled banner in the other, and a hammer and javelins on his back. Bemused guardsmen looked down on him from atop the gatehouse, shading their eyes against the dying afternoon sun. The mystery knight came to a stop, and for a long moment, silence reigned.

Then the banner was raised high and brought down, a piercing crack echoing off the castle walls as its butt seemed to shatter the cobblestones. It stood in place, unfurling to reveal a five pointed white star on navy, with a fine red trim the colour of fresh blood.

“I am Ser Steve Rogers,” the knight announced, voice booming over the walls. “I fight for those wronged by the tyrant Aerys Targaryen. I am here to accept your surrender.”

For a moment, there was no answer. Then disbelieving laughter erupted from those who had heard, and calls went out for others to come and see the spectacle that had approached them. Steve could hear a clatter as someone in armour descended stone stairs, and muffled bets were exchanged behind the crenellations. Soon, an armoured knight strode through the open gates to answer his challenge. They took one look at him and scoffed, shaking their head at his arrogance, and drew the sword at their hip.

More mocking calls came from above, but Steve ignored them, stretching his neck. He would play his part, and they would not remain mocking for long. He stepped forward, hands tightening into fists, and ignored his foe’s invitation to circle.

It was time for something audacious, and he had always been partial to a frontal assault.