Armies were heavy, ponderous things. Getting one moving was a slow, difficult task, and bringing one to an ordered stop wasn’t any easier. Officers shouted and raged, spurring their men on as tents were broken down and servants dashed to and fro, getting everything packed away. The camp was an absolute hive of activity as word spread of the new Reach army lurking beyond the horizon, over half again as large as the one they had just defeated. By the time the first of the men were ready to march out, it was not yet mid morning, danger lending them haste.

It was not every man who was focused on breaking camp and making distance between them and the looming threat, however. Much of the noble cavalry was mounted and battle ready in case of a probing attack by their opposites, the Reach cavalry regarded warily, and for good reason. Should they be hit on the march, great swathes of the army could be decimated if the foeriders were given free rein. There was little chance that the enemy did not know where they were - even if not for the sightings of distant and canny outriders, there was still the men of the vanquished army to carry word. If nothing was done, they faced a long and arduous march, pursued closely and harried hard, only a single mistake between their escape and being forced to give battle. Something would have to be done.

Thankfully, something was.

X

Steve swayed with the branch he stood on, the only sound to be heard the rustle of leaves. The breeze tugged at his shirt, filtered sunlight playing across his face as he waited. Nearby, a boot scraped across a root.

Quiet as a whisper, he stepped off the branch, falling the short distance to the forest floor. The scout he fell upon never suspected a thing until his hands found his neck and snapped it with a twist.

A grunt and a gurgling rasp came from nearby, as Walt tackled the second scout, dagger finding the man’s throat as they fell to the forest floor, blood staining the earth red. His free hand held tight to the man’s mouth, holding back any sound from escaping, eyes without mercy.

“There’s another pair a short way south,” Steve said, climbing back up the tree one handed, holding the dead foe with the other. He wedged the man as high as he could trust him to stay securely, before dropping back down.

“You’ve got the Stranger’s own nose,” Walt said, wiping blood from his cheek as he rose. He moved out of the way, letting Steve take up his own foe.

“Just lucky, I guess,” Steve said, hiding the second body near the first. With luck, they wouldn’t be seen without a dedicated search, something that wouldn’t be coming. Not when those most likely to be searching had bigger problems.

“Erik and Willem will be too far away,” Walt said, wiping his dagger clean and sheathing it. “We’ll have to deal with them.”

Faintly, there was the distinctive sound of stone hitting bone, coming from the east. “Willem just got one.”

Walt gave him a look. “I’d ask how the fuck you know that-”

“Heard it,” Steve said.

“Stranger’s own ears, too,” Walt grumbled, but it was more for the sake of grumbling than any real complaint. “There more like you, back home?”

“One or two,” Steve said. They began to move through the forest after their next quarry, Steve with the quietness of a superhuman, calling on memories of the War, Walt with the skill that came from hard earned experience and a conflict of his own.

“Your kids?” Walt asked.

Steve didn’t cough or splutter, but his tongue did trip over itself. “Er, no, I- no.”

“Da then?” A songbird watched them go by, but it was silent.

“No, not my Ma either.”

“So not something you can pass on,” Walt said.

“Why so interested?” Steve said, ducking under a branch.

“Your little show yesterday drew a few eyes,” he said. “Noble eyes. Them like that aren’t against using their daughters like a prize broodmare.”

Steve made a face, even as he started to slow. “You can’t be serious.”

A raspy chuckle answered that. “They’d do it for coin or an alliance, you think they don’t want what you’ve got?”

“Shame I’m already taken then,” Steve said. He wouldn’t insult Walt by asking just what it was the man thought he had; he hadn’t exactly been trying to hide his gifts even before the battle.

“Like that’d stop ‘em,” Walt said. “Some just aren’t botherin’ cause they see Toby and figure you’re a freak of nature.”

Steve nearly stepped on a branch. “They think Toby is my son?”

“Even odds on if Naerys is the ma or no,” Walt said, a smirk audible in his voice. “Gonna earn a shiny few coins off that one.”

“No,” Steve said, as if making a declaration. He remembered the Vaiths, back at Harrenhal, making a similar assumption, but he had thought it a reach. Toby didn’t even have the right colouring to resemble what his and Naerys’ kids would loo- he cut himself off. “We’re close.”

Walt nodded, levity left behind, and readied his dagger. If they wanted to blind the Reach army, there were men that needed to die.

X

“Almost a shame, really,” Robert said.

Steve looked over at him, one of several. They stood atop a steep hill, a short way from the edge of the forest, all afoot. The road, nothing impressive, wound around the hill and parallelled the forest, arcing north west. Errol was there, along with a few other lords and knights.

“It’s a bloody good spot for it,” the man continued, scratching at his beard.

“We have done the work,” one lord, thickset with muscle, suggested cautiously.

“Not enough,” Errol said, shaking his head. “Not against forty thousand Reachmen.”

“But imagine,” the lord said, plaintive as he took in the slope and the forest, imagining hidden men and sudden charges, though it was clear in his bearing that he knew better.

Robert sighed. “Leave the imagining to the flowery fucks. They can shit themselves over an ambush that isn’t coming, while we get closer to the fight that matters.”

“They won’t be delayed more than a day, surely,” Connington - Ronald, Steve had learned his name was - said.

“Three days is better than two,” another man said.

Connington wasn’t satisfied. “Reaching the Crownlands or the Riverlands is well, but not if we have that army three days behind us,” he said. “Damned thing came out of nowhere, and I’m not convinced we can keep that lead.”

“We’ll make another one,” someone said. “We tricked them once.”

“A trick only works so many times,” Steve said, “and it’s their turf.”

There were some grumbles, but none gainsaid him.

“They won’t follow us,” Robert said. “Not all of them. Maybe not even half.”

“How do you figure?” Steve asked. He knew war, but he lacked the knowledge to make that judgement.

“Tarly was rushed,” Robert said. “Drawn in from what was near, and what he had. Tyrell couldn’t have done the same with his, what, twenty thousand? Twenty five?” he asked, glancing at Samuel.

“A good enough estimate,” the older lord said, looking towards the horizon, as if he might see the enemy if he peered hard enough.

“That means they were already on their way. Means they were going somewhere. Dragons to coppers that’s the army that Steve fucked about with his raiding,” Robert said, nodding to himself. “They’re headed to Storm’s End. They can’t afford to change paths.”

“If it is, part of it will come after us,” Steve said. “Whoever planned out the approach knew what they were doing. They won’t want to take more men along a route that isn’t supplied as they wanted.”

“The field might be more tempting than a buxom wench, but a fight here suits them, ambush or no,” Robert said. He shaded his eyes against the midday sun; it was just beginning to fall. “No, better to make them feel the fools.”

“Can we not do something?” the first lord asked. He was almost woeful.

“Well,” Steve said. “I could get up to a bit of mischief in their camp tonight.”

Eyes flicked to him. Few were doubtful. Saying you were going to break the enemy line and then doing that had a way of shifting opinions. The thickly muscled man was downright eager.

“Mischief,” Robert said.

“A few good men, depending on the objective…” Steve said, shrugging.

Robert’s eyes lit up, the man unable to help himself.

“No, Lord Robert,” Samuel said.

Robert grumbled, but didn’t bother to respond. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’ll come with you,” the enthusiastic lord said. “Ser Thomas Storm of Greenstone, at your service.” His shoulders were broad, almost as broad as Steve’s own, but he was almost as short as Arland, and he had an open face given to smiling.

There were a few snickers, not mean spirited, in response to his words.

“How are you with horses?” Steve asked the man.

“Love em,” Thomas said easily.

“Mules?”

“Prefer dogs,” the knight admitted.

“What about donkeys?”

Robert chuckled, but said nothing, looking away.

Thomas grumbled, suddenly grim. “Donkeys aren’t right.”

“You’re not still holding a grudge,” the other knight, silent until now, said.

“Don’t,” Thomas warned, expression closing off on itself, as if remembering some great trauma.

The knight held his hands up in surrender, even as he held back a laugh.

“Well,” Steve said, wearing a faint smile at the back and forth, “I was thinking we’d find the biggest animal enclosure, and set whatever is within to stampeding.”

“They will set a strong watch,” Errol warned . “If they haven’t already realised they’ve been blinded, they soon will.”

Steve nodded. “I’d thought about eavesdropping on their command tent, but you’re right. Still, with all the men from Tarly’s army they picked up, I bet there’ll be a bit of untidiness we can slip through.”

Slapping his hand to his thigh, Robert gave a decisive nod, turning away from the horizon and to the group proper. “Then I give you leave to make your best attempt, but if you judge it to be too risky, you’re to turn back.”

“Yes sir,” Steve said.

Thomas shifted, but said nothing.

“You want Storm here?” Robert asked, catching it. “He showed his blood ran true enough in the battle.”

“You’ll follow any orders I give, no arguments?” Steve asked the man.

“Aye my lord,” Thomas said, bright blue eyes meeting his own without hesitation.

There was a hint of something familiar to the man, and Steve found himself glancing between him and Robert. Robert tilted his head forward, ever so slightly.

“I’ll pick three of my own, and we’ll ride out before dusk,” Steve said.

“Right then,” Robert said. “Let’s get back to the army; there’s plenty of daylight left to burn and if I have to look at this field any longer I might change my mind.”

Laughter was the response, and the lords and knights turned from the field that would make the blinded Reach force fear an ambush, making for the group of squires that watched over their mounts, hidden behind the hill. Robert accepted his reins from Bryn, and Steve did the same from Robin, and then they were mounted and away, cantering north.

X

Robin hissed, shaking out his hand as his borrowed sword was twisted from his grip yet again. “This is starting to get embarrassing,” he said.

“Starting?” came the catcall from Lyanna, sitting on a nearby crate.

“I’m sorry,” Bryn said, sincere, the tip of his blunt sword lowering. “I can show you again?”

“I don’t think it’ll be any different than the last five times,” Robin said. He glanced over to where Steve stood, arms folded as he observed. “You’re sure I need to learn the sword?”

Around them, men hurried this way and that, racing the setting sun to get as much of the camp set up as possible. Soldiers and supplies continued to march in, and the camp slowly grew, stretching out over a row of fields by the road.

“I don’t think the sword would suit you,” Steve said. He had been watching them spar for the past twenty minutes, after he had put them both through some unarmed combat drills, and he was growing more and more sure in his judgment.

Robin blinked. “Then why have I spent the last hour getting beaten up by a ten year old?!” he asked.

“I’m almost twelve,” Bryn protested quietly.

“What?” Robin squawked. “I thought you were fourteen!”

“You’ve spent the last twenty minutes getting beaten up by a twelve year old because you still need to learn how to defend against a sword,” Steve said. “You won’t always be able to shoot the enemy before they can get to you.”

Robin grumbled to himself, taking up his lost weapon, preparing for another defeat.

“That’s enough for today,” Steve said. More of the same would just be going through the motions without learning. “Good effort. The rest of the afternoon is yours, but remember you’re on wash up duty tonight.”

“Right,” Robin said, brightening. “Lyanna, do you want- oh.”

“Sorry,” Lyanna said, already holding the parchment and sketching charcoal that Steve had given her in anticipation of her own lesson. “After?”

“I’ll be waiting,” Robin said, goofy grin on his face.

Steve turned to Bryn, sparing the two his attention. “Did Robert give you any instructions for afterwards?” he asked the kid.

“No, Lord America,” Bryn said, bowing. “And thank you for the instruction.”

“Thanks for the help,” Steve said. “You’re welcome to hang out with Toby if he’s free.” The warg had drawn Keladry’s ire with some mischief earlier in the day, earning a double dose of chores for the fight he had picked with a groomsman.

Bryn hesitated, wavering on the edge of accepting. Steve had noticed that the kid wasn’t the most social, not spending much time with the squires close to his age. “I’m not sure,” he said.

“I’ll show you where he is,” Robin offered, letting go of Lyanna’s hand. “He should be finished peeling by now.”

“Thank you,” Bryn said. For all he was reluctant to be social, he never took much persuading.

Steve watched as the two kids scampered off, disappearing into the lanes and bustle of the growing camp, and turned to his next student. “To the tent, I think. We’ll lose the light soon anyway. How did you do?”

“It’s hard,” Lyanna said as they began to walk. She held up the parchment she had been working on for his judgment, sketched as she observed the training.

Two figures were on it, lacking in detail but clearly in motion, the smaller disarming the larger. It was blunt, and the figures had a stiffness to them, but he could see the improvement. “You’re getting better,” Steve said, approving.

“Thank you,” Lyanna said, a small smile on her face and an extra bounce in her step as they walked, servants and soldiers slipping out of their path. “It’s still nothing like yours though.”

“I’ve had a lot longer to practice,” Steve said. “And that’s all it is, practice.”

Lyanna made a noise of agreement that said she didn’t agree at all.

“You’ll see,” Steve said, holding back a laugh.

It didn’t take them long to reach the tent that he had picked up so long ago in King’s Landing. Since joining the army, they had picked up more than the small, easily packed away furniture they had to use during the raid - Walt had appeared with a larger table for the main room one day, offering no explanations - and the two of them settled into the main room of the tent after Steve had ducked into his own to pick up his own materials.

“What are we doing today?” Lyanna asked, sitting on the edge of her chair. She held her stylus poised above the parchment, a fresh piece of charcoal on the end ready to go.

“I think we’ll work on expressions,” Steve said. “Pick someone you know, and do some quick sketches of three different emotions.”

Brown hair was twisted around a finger as she thought, before a little grin appeared, and she leaned forward, quick strokes building the frame of someone’s face.

Steve left her to it, taking up his own stylus and fitting a new piece of charcoal to it. The response to his little drawing of Aerys the Donkey the night before had buoyed him, and he had an urge to create. A twist on an old classic occurred to him, and he smirked as he began to draw.

For a time, there was only the scratch of art in progress. A servant brought a jug of very watered down wine and a platter of food, care of Naerys, and they grazed as they continued to draw, too absorbed to talk. The sun continued to set, an orange glow against the tent wall, and Naerys passed through, bringing with her an oil lamp, though she didn’t linger, retrieving something from her room and heading back out, purpose in her step. She slowed only enough to trail her hand across Steve’s shoulders as she left. He watched as she left, admiring the fine make of her pants, only to be caught in the act by a knowing glance over her shoulder.

“Naerys said my numbers are doing well,” Lyanna said, breaking the silence. She didn’t look up from her work.

“I know,” Steve said, finishing the outline of the last animal. He added some shading to the table they were arrayed around.

“Huh?” Lyanna said.

He looked up at his student. “You don’t think Naerys hasn’t been telling me how well you’re doing? She keeps me in the loop for all three of you.” Between himself, Naerys, and Keladry, the kids might even have something approaching a rounded education.

“I thought, I mean, yeah,” Lyanna said. She pressed too hard on her next stroke, making a darker line than intended.

“You’ve almost sped through everything her father’s maester taught her, too,” Steve said.

“Oh,” Lyanna said, disappointment obvious in her sagging shoulders.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been sharing some things I’ve been taught,” he said. “You’ve got plenty left to learn.”

“Oh!” Lyanna said, perking up.

“Good to see you’re still enjoying it,” he said. Half his attention was on his work, trying to figure out how a stag would hold a hand of cards.

“I like to count my pay,” she said, like she was confessing some great secret. “And work out how much I’d have in the time it takes to travel somewhere.”

“I did the same,” Steve said. “Whenever I managed to sell a piece of art or get a commission, I’d work out how many more I’d need for this real nice set of paints and brushes this store in my neighbourhood had in their window.”

“How long did it take?” Lyanna asked.

“You know, I never did,” Steve said, stylus pausing for a moment as he remembered. “Things got in the way.” A fancy brush kit seemed less important when he was trying to make sure the next enlistment centre didn’t have any staff from the last one.

“But you have a nice set now, right?” Lyanna said, looking up. It seemed important to her. “It just took a while longer.”

“I guess you’re right,” Steve said. “Just took a while…” He found his thoughts straying, thinking of things he had wanted and lost only to have fall into his path in this new world.

“Do you think you’ll do another painting soon?” Lyanna asked, oblivious to his thoughts.

“I might,” Steve said. The battle had given him thoughts on something worth painting. “I’ve only got enough paint left for one good one, and I don’t like my chances of getting more in a hurry.”

“I heard Lady Whent talking about the Essosi styles once,” Lyanna said, nibbling on the end of her stylus. “Old and New Valyrian, the City styles, and she said Braavos had too many to keep track of, but - what do you call yours?”

Steve glanced down at his work in progress. “In general, or my painting? Because this is just a quick doodle, borrowing from a few styles.” He added a dash of impotent rage to the lizard’s expression.

“Your painting style,” Lyanna said. “It’s so real.” She sounded wistful.

“Realism?” Steve said, shrugging. Not that it was what the snobs back home would call it, but close enough. It was closer to that than to any of the styles he’d seen in the few castles he’d passed through. “It’s influenced by a few styles, but Realism is close enough.”

“Realism,” Lyanna said to herself. “And, will I…?”

“Yeah, I’ll teach you that too,” Steve said. “That’s what this is, really. Giving you the basics to get to that point.”

She smiled, almost bouncing with happiness.

“Now, show me what you’ve got so far,” he said, setting down his stylus.

Lyanna hurriedly finished the bit she was working on, and slid the parchment over to him, trying and failing to hold back a smirk. Steve saw what she had done, and sighed.

His own face looked out at him in triplicate, basic and unfinished, but clearly him. He looked over at her, deadpan, but that only made her smirk grow, and he shook his head. It didn’t help that one of the expressions she had chosen was that same look of blank doneness. Another was a normal smile, and the last he was pretty sure was one of annoyance he had pulled earlier in the day when some noble had tried to order Betty and her girls around on some task halfway across camp.

“This is good,” Steve said. “You’re showing some real progress.”

“Thank you,” Lyanna said, smirk returning to a look of happiness. Then she glanced down at Steve’s own work, and she sighed. “Another year and I might be half as good as you.”

“Don’t judge yourself against someone with thousands of hours of practice except as a goal,” Steve said.

“Yes Steve,” she said, teenager voice in full effect. “I did three faces in the time it took you to do half the Great Houses sitting at a table playing-” she squinted at the sketch “-playing what?”

“Cards. Poker,” Steve said, handing her work back. “I’d make up a set and teach you all, but Keladry would clean us out in a night.”

“It’s a gambling game? Like dice?” Lyanna asked, suddenly interested, almost discarding her parchment.

“Yeah, but with less luck involved,” Steve said, taking up his stylus again.

Naked interest played out across Lyanna’s face. “What would it take to make a set of cards?”

Steve stopped, considering. Did he want to give Lyanna the tools she needed to fleece unsuspecting marks?

Yes, yes he did. She had the smarts not to go overboard, and it would be hilarious. Even so, he was nominally the responsible one here, and she was under his care.

“Naerys is teaching you how to work out what supplies the company needs based on its planned path, right?” Steve asked.

“Yes?” Lyanna said.

“Once you can plan out a month without errors, I’ll give you a deck of cards and teach you how to play,” he promised. “Just be smart about it. Soldiers aren’t going to be happy about being taken for all they’re worth.”

Lyanna scoffed. “‘M not going to waste my time with soldiers,” she said. “Nobles are where the coin is at, and it’s not even real money to them.”

Steve began to reconsider the wisdom of his decision.

“Thanks Steve! I’m going to go practise my numbers,” Lyanna said, sliding out of her chair as she gathered up her art materials. She gave a quick curtsey, and then she was gone, the tent flap left aflutter in her wake.

“Well,” Steve said to himself. He glanced at the lamp, and the shadows it cast around the tent. At least he could distract himself with a raid on the Reach camp.