A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

The Son Who Would Be More III

Singles had become a trickle and then a flood, until it seemed like half the neighbourhood was taking shelter within the barracks under the aegis of the white star. Walt and Henry had put the newcomers to work, freeing up company men to man the walls or stand ready at the gates. Women took their children to the shelter of the barracks proper, some watching the young and others joining Corivo’s group, while menfolk helped carry broken down stones up the walls, ready to be dropped on any force that tried to press them. Some of them sat with their backs to the parapet, ready to do the dropping, while others went to break down more stones - a pity for whatever repairs they had been meant for, but that was none of Robin’s concern. With the walls bristling with soldiers and the sound of further preparations rising from within the walls, and still the odd person being welcomed inside, it was clear that the barracks was a place of safety.

Those seeking shelter weren’t the only ones to have noticed.

Robin watched as a true force arrived, marching steadily down the street towards them. Three men ahorse led them, knights, and there were more scattered amongst the column of soldiers, the muck of battle on them all. The wall was tense as they neared, spilling from the street to spread out across the open area below them. They had no ladders, but he spied what looked like a salvaged support beam held low, and then a group of men near the front bearing hammers. They came to a stop at the raised fist of their leader. For a long moment, the force of some three hundred simply looked up at them, the silence pressing heavily even against the distant sound of fighting. A horse stamped its hoof, whickering loudly.

The lead man had a black and white boar on his shield, and he gave a signal to one of the men beside him.

“In the name of Lord Lannister, you will open your gates and yield your position!” the knight cried.

“In the name of Lord America, no we won’t!”

It wasn’t clear who had answered, but there was a ripple of laughter along the wall all the same.

The knight reddened, already opening his mouth to respond, but he was cut short by the man who had to be his liege lord. “Does Lord America fight for Aerys?”

Jeers rose in response, and someone spat down into the road. A glance back found Walt striding across the yard towards the stairs, and without him yet upon the wall no one was eager to make themselves the spokesman.

“If you are not for Aerys, you have no cause to resist us,” the lord said. His grey moustache shifted from side to side as he looked up and down the wall, taking in the men atop it. “Though I would know why you have slain good Westerlands men if you speak the truth.”

Walt was climbing the stairs now, and Robin wasn’t alone in looking to him to take over negotiations, but to those below it must have seemed that they were refusing to answer, and one man’s patience ran out.

“We’re wasting time, my lord,” the first knight to speak said. His face was set in a look of contempt. “Those gates are meant to keep out rioters, not warriors, and they hide those who must answer for their crimes.”

Robin felt his lip curling at the knight’s words, faced with yet another noble who thought they were so much better than everyone else. He swapped his broadhead arrow for one of the bodkin points that they had found in the garrison.

“Burn them out and be done with it,” the knight finished, making a careless gesture.

The twang of a bowstring made the tension spike, a ripple of flinches flowing through the ranks. A scream followed, as the opinionated knight clutched at his hand, the arrow having pierced through his palm before being stopped by the back of his gauntlet.

Violence loomed, but the lord raised his fist, unclinching. “Hold!” he commanded, voice soaring.

Robin felt his stomach lurch. Maybe he hadn’t thought that through. The looming feeling of violence settled, but now there was a sharpness to the air, and the lord was frowning. The raised brow he got from Walt as he joined them atop the wall did little to help Robin’s stomach.

“And who are you to assault my knight while we speak under parley?” the lord demanded, countenance stern as he stared up at Robin. He wasn’t the only one watching.

“I am Robin Longstride, squire to Lord America,” he answered, swallowing at the sudden attention. “In his name I protect the people your knight wants to burn out.”

The knight pulled the arrow free from his hand, face pulled back in a silent snarl, his eyes fixed on Robin. “You’ll pay for that, boy.” He snapped the arrow with a clench of his fist, dropping it to the ground.

The lord looked at the bloody arrowtip for a long moment, not saying anything. Then, “I am Lord Crakehall. Did your knight master ever speak of me?”

Robin frowned in thought, even as his eyes lingered on the knight. “You put down the Kingswood Brotherhood with him - you took an arrow to the armpit.”

Amusement stole across Crakehall’s face. “With him, is it. And aye, I did.” He seemed to be turning something over in his mind, and his gaze went to the white star banner. “It’s true then, that Lord America stands with the rebels?”

A silent request for aid to Walt was mercilessly denied, leaving Robin to continue the talks. “He does.”

Crakehall nodded slowly, and it seemed to mean something to those with him.

“My lord-” the wounded knight hissed.

A raised finger halted his protest.

“Then, if you are truly Lord America’s men…” Crakehall said, leadingly.

“They are.”

Robin wasn’t alone in jolting at the voice of their Captain. How he had gotten onto the wall with them without being noticed he had no idea.

“Lord America,” Crakehall said.

“Lord Crakehall,” Steve answered, leaning casually on the parapet. The hammer on his back and the blood on its head said a lot about his deeds while he was gone. “How’s the wound?”

“Recovered, though not swiftly enough to see you defeat my son at Harrenhal,” Crakehall said. For a moment, they could have been two lords meeting by chance on some tourney ground, but then Crakehall looked to his wounded knight and the moment faded. “I would ask why you attacked Westerlands men.”

“They were up to no good.”

Crakehall blinked at the answer. “I’m sorry?”

“They were up to no good,” Steve said, slightly louder this time. A flutter of low mutterings spread through the men below the wall.

“I..see.” Going by his tone, he didn’t see. “I will have to inform my lord Lannister.”

“I’d be happy to speak with him about it,” Steve said. “Say, I might have run into another one of yours earlier - big fella, used a greatsword with one hand, wore a black dog on yellow. Ring any bells?”

“Not a lord of any renown,” Crakehall said, not needing to think. “But the description is a familiar one; perhaps a landed knight.” He gave Steve a look, lips pursed. “Was he also ‘up to no good’?”

“Something like that,” Steve said. “What about a fella by the name of ‘Lorch’?”

Crakehall gave him a long look. “There is a limit to what can be excused in the fog of war,” he said, as much advice as it was a warning.

“Yeah, there is,” Steve said. Robin saw him glance to Walt, then back over his shoulder, considering something. “My men are holding this point for the arrival of King Baratheon. It's a shame your attack couldn't have waited for the afternoon, or we could've worked together."

“King Bara-” Crakehall was surprised, but cut himself short with a shake of his head. “Blame the Dornish for that. This all could have been settled without bloodshed if not for them.” He looked from Steve to his men. “For the sake of propriety, I have your word that you intend only to hold this point for the arrival of - your fellows?”

“I promise that my men will not interfere in the fighting, only hold this barracks until King Baratheon arrives,” Steve said, hand over his heart.

Robin’s ears weren’t alone in pricking up at the Captain’s tone. It was one they were familiar with, but Crakehall seemed to find nothing suspicious about it, only nodding in acceptance.

The Lannister men didn’t stay much longer, heading back towards the fighting in Crakehall’s wake. Robin stared at them as they went, fingers playing with his bowstring. He knew for a fact that some would slip away or get lost in the fighting and go looking for those who couldn’t defend themselves, but there was nothing he could do. He forced the thoughts from his mind and turned to his knight master. The knowledge that he even had a knight master was still enough to bring a small grin to his face.

“You rescued the Princess and her family?” he asked, already sure of the answer.

“Elia and her children are safe,” Steve said, as much to Robin as to Walt when the man joined them. “Our job isn’t done yet, and I need to confirm some things with Jaime when he wakes up properly.”

Robin felt his grin fading at Steve’s tone. Now that Crakehall had gone he had shed his easy manner, the normal casual surety sanded down to a focus that he hadn’t seen since their raid into the Vale mountains.

“What happened up there?” Walt asked, jaw set and seeing the same things Robin was.

“Two enemy factions were present and trying to get at the royals,” Steve said. “At least one wanted them dead, and it’s likely it was the Lannisters.”

Robin looked down into the yard, seeing the squads that had gone with Steve to the Red Keep milling below…but there was something wrong with the picture. Too many horses without riders. He felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. He couldn’t see Ser Than or Mamand - couldn’t see any of Yorick’s squad, or even Yorick himself. “Where are-” he saw his answer in Steve’s face, and found himself shaking his head slowly in denial.

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, reassuring, but he was still trying to come to terms with what had to be true. “Your family is here safely?” Steve was asking.

Robin nodded.

“Good. Focus on that. The ones responsible for what happened will face consequences, but we have problems to deal with before that,” Steve said. “I need you to keep watch on the wall; can you do that for me?”

Robin nodded again.

“Good. Walt, I need you to speak to Henry, and then tell the others. They fell protecting a woman and her child from a terrible end, and we’ll have time to mourn, but not now. We need to stay focused.”

Walt gave a grunt. “I’ll see to it. You’re on top of whatever this other thing is?”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“I am, so long as you have things here under control.”

If they said anything else, Robin missed it, only realising when Steve took his hand from his shoulder and made for the stairs. Walt guided him over to where his Da was standing before heading below, towards Henry and his squad by the gate. He gripped his bow. Steve thought the Lannisters were to blame. If they came back, he wouldn’t be aiming for the hand.

The Boy Who Would Be A Knight III

Jaime returned to himself laying in a bed, propped up by pillows. The room was small and cramped, a narrow window in one wall letting in the light, and a foreign man he didn’t recognise leaning over him. He sucked in a breath, trying to rise, looking for his sword. “Who-”

“Easy, Jaime.”

The voice was one he knew, though it had been over a year since he had heard it. Pain throbbed through his head in a wave and he went slack, falling back into the pillows. The pain ebbed, enough that he could move his head to see the figure sitting on the other side of the bed. It was Steve.

Pain came again, and when his face contorted it only got worse. A noise escaped him and he felt ashamed at showing such weakness.

“We have opiates, but I need to know more of what you told me,” Steve was saying. “Can you do this, Jaime?”

“What - what did I tell you?” Jaime asked. He couldn’t remember saying anything, could barely think past the pulses of pain coming from his face.

“The wildfire hidden through the city,” Steve said. His tone was calm, too calm to be anything but a front. “What is it? Was an order given to light it?”

“Wildfire. It burns,” Jaime said. His face felt like it was burning, burning like the petty thieves Aerys had set ablaze. “The city will burn.”

“It is a very dangerous substance that cannot be fought as normal fire can,” the foreigner said. He had a cup of something, and brought it over Jaime’s face, very carefully dripping it onto his forehead. It felt cold as it trickled down towards his nose, until it didn’t. “There are tales of the Targaryen kings and its dangers.”

“Aerys, he gave the order to Rossart, to Belis,” Jaime said. “I stopped them. Killed them.”

“The order was stopped?” Steve pressed. “No one else could know?”

“I don’t - no,” he rasped. “There was another. He has to be part of it - Garigus - he met with Aerys as much as Rossart and Belis did.”

“Where could he be?”

His mouth felt dry, but when he tried to breathe through his nose the pain got worse. “The Guildhall. Below Visenya’s Hill.”

“Give him the opiate,” Steve said, and Jaime realised he was no longer talking to him.

“Steve,” he said, hand seizing the knight by the wrist. “I killed the king. Strangled him. Broke my oath.”

“Jaime,” Steve said, putting a hand on his. “You saved the life of every person in this city. I’d say you held to your oath just fine.”

Something eased in him, a fear unvoiced, and Steve took his hand and laid it on his chest. He realised his armour had been removed. The foreigner dripped some more liquid on his face, before holding a different cup to his lips. It was milk of the poppy, white like his cloak. He sipped at it, eager to escape the pain, feeling his thoughts try to follow three different paths at once.

It hit him like a bolt from the blue. Poppy, white, cloak. “Arthur, he knows. Went to Rhaegar. He didn’t…” he couldn’t finish, his voice starting to slur.

“Don’t worry, Jaime,” Steve said, his voice distant. “I’ll take care of it.”

The Woman Who Rides Like A Man III

Kel waited in the hall outside the repurposed officer’s quarters. What she had heard was enough to turn her blood to ice, but she held herself steady as the mountains as she waited for Steve to finish speaking with Corivo. Her headache was starting to ease, and she sipped at a waterskin to help it on its way.

When Steve stepped from the room, he was quick to look to her. “You heard?” he checked.

She nodded. The Lannister’s half conscious ramblings on the ride from the Red Keep had been concerning enough, and now it was only the knowledge that Steve was addressing the issue that let her keep her expression smooth. “What is your plan?”

“Securing the wildfire isn’t possible at this point,” Steve said, turning and heading for the stairs that led to the lower level. Kel fell in beside him. “What we can do is secure those who know about it.”

“This ‘Garigus’,” Kel said. “And…Arthur Dayne.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, mouth twisting. “Garigus is complicit, and even if Rhaegar didn’t know before, he knows now. I won’t gamble on his character when he’s about to be cornered in his own city.”

They headed down the stairs and into what had been a common area but was now Corivo’s domain, supervised by Ed in the Myrman’s absence. Its only occupants were the members of her squad, their wounds being seen to, and she slowed a moment to reassure herself that nothing had gone wrong in her absence. Maynard was having a cut to his cheek stitched closed by a civilian woman, and Ortys was grimacing as Ed tipped a cleansing tonic into the wound to his shoulder. Steve had slowed with her, but they resumed their quick walk as they left the building behind, emerging into the barracks’ yard.

“Dayne will be with the prince,” Kel said. “The fighting will be thick.” She felt keenly the missing weight of her glaive.

“I'll handle Arthur and Rhaegar,” Steve said, like it was a foregone conclusion. “Walt will go to the Alchemist’s Hall and secure Garigus.”

“Alone?” Kel questioned.

“The fighting hasn’t reached that part of the city yet, and they’ll speak to a man alone where they’d bar their doors to a squad,” Steve said. He looked around the yard, blue eyes missing nothing as he took in the work done in their absence, preparations made, civilians protected and given duties.

“Will you take your squad with you?”

“No, you’ll need them,” Steve said. “You will take over command here and defend it against all comers.”

“Aye ser,” Kel said. She felt her spine straightening, Steve’s regard still a powerful thing even after all their time together.

He watched her, almost inspecting her, looking from eye to eye and to the growing bruise on her cheek. His gaze went to Redbloom, where her broken glaive was stowed. He nodded to himself. “Could you get Elia and her children? I’d like to speak with them before I leave.”

Steve was turning to give orders before she had done more than nod, calling for Walt, and she made her way towards the row of buildings that normally housed beds and supplies for the garrison, but now held women and children. One of the doors was bracketed by Hugo and Artys, the twin opening the way for her as she neared. It was darker inside, the only light coming through wooden shutters, and the room was quiet in the way that only happened in the wake of a sudden hush. She ignored the looks of all those who had come seeking safety, mothers and fathers holding children as they sat in and amongst the rows of bunks that filled the long room. They had good reason to be wary of a figure in plate armour.

It did not take her long to find those she sought. The Princess and her children had a bunk to themselves, off to the side, and those nearest to them were all turned slightly away, like as not unintentionally. They probably did not know them for royalty, but there was no hiding that they were nobles, not with the Princess’ fine dress and svelte shoulders, to say nothing of her flowing dark hair and smooth hands. The Dornishwoman watched as Kel approached, the clank of her sabatons slowly smoothed over by the return of low conversations and murmurs amongst the civilians.

With a start, Kel realised that she wasn’t approaching a Princess but with a Queen. She had heard Jaime’s confession, and that made Rhaegar King and Elia Queen. “My - your - my lady,” Kel said, stopping a respectful step shy of the royal family. She had protected Queen Stark, had spoken with her as a friend even, but this felt different.

“Ser Knight,” she said. Her eyes were watchful, but not of Kel - her gaze was on those around them, her arms holding her children tight. Princess Rhaenys was looking up distrustfully, and the black cat in her arms hissed silently at her. “I think you can call me by my name.”

If she flushed, it was masked by the exertion of the day and the bruise on her cheek. Explaining her situation would only be a distraction, so she put it aside. “As you say. Steve would like to speak with you.”

“Is all well?” Elia asked, gaze snapping back to her. “Has - someone come for my children?”

“No,” Kel said, half raising a hand in reassurance. “He is about to go to end the fighting, but he would like to see you first.” He hadn’t said it, but she knew how he thought. He would see the opportunity to force a surrender and spare the city more fighting.

Elia glanced down at her children; Aegon was sleeping, exhausted, but Rhaenys still hadn’t taken her eyes off Kel. She let out a slow breath. “Very well.” With an effort she forced up from where she sat on the bed’s edge, one child held against her side, the other hanging from her hip.

Thoughts of offering to ease her burden were dismissed as quickly as they came; she knew what answer she would get just from the look in Elia’s eyes. Kel led the way outside, smallfolk shuffling themselves around and pulling their legs up to avoid even the risk of getting in their way. The door had been closed after her on the way in, and when she opened it again she had to blink against the brightness of the day for a moment. When her vision adjusted, it took her only a moment to realise that something was off.

Steve was standing where she had left him in the middle of the yard, and Walt was at his side now, but so too were two squads of men, formed up in lines to create a path. One was Steve’s squad, but the other was her own, fresh from the infirmary. Lucion had stitches half finished on one cheek. Both lines faced each other, staring forward, but she could see them doing their best to look to her from the corners of their eyes.

“Lady Keladry Delnaimn,” Steve boomed, “approach.”

With a start, Kel realised she had stopped in place, and she forced herself to move, obeying her Captain even if she didn’t know what was going on. She could hear Elia following behind her, hesitantly at first, but then more confidently, and she could see those on the walls half turned to watch the spectacle below. She kept control of her expression, trusting in Steve, and passed through the guard of honour as she - oh no. She knew what this was about.

Something must have shown on her face, because Steve smirked at her as she came to a stop before him. Elia moved past her, stepping into the empty space at his right and completing the vista. For all that she was trying to keep her composure, her dark brows kept trying to rise against her will.

“Lady Keladry Delnaimn,” Steve said, quieter this time, but still managing to fill the yard. “In the time you have fought by my side, you have shown spirit, endurance, courage, and skill. Kneel.”

Kel knelt.

“You discarded the protection of a noble name to save the life of a child you did not yet know. You held the crossing at the Battle of Mastford Bridge,” Steve said, his voice clear and strong.

She felt like she was outside her body looking in. Her headache was gone, but without that pain she couldn’t be sure she wasn’t dreaming.

“You chose to go on alone to face a foe that had cut down a squad of our comrades,” Steve said, his mood turning somber. Heads bowed all around the barracks, and Kel saw Henry close his eyes in grief. After a long moment, Steve spoke again. “You faced that foe in defence of the Princess and her son, and by your deeds they stand with us now. Keladry Delnaimn, will you accept this charge?”

Kel forced herself to nod, her throat too tight to speak.

Steve held his hand out to Walt, and received the upper half of her broken glaive - she hadn’t even realised he had been holding it. It had been gifted to her mother by a prince of Yi Ti, and she suddenly realised that she wasn’t sure what she feared more, facing her family after letting them think she was dead for over a year, or telling her mother she had broken her glaive. She wasn’t given any more time to think on it as Steve placed the cracked blade on her shoulder.

“Lady Keladry Delnaimn,” Steve said, “Do you swear to your god that you will defend the innocent, that you will fight the hard fights, that you will be brave and just, and that when you are faced with tyranny you will look it in the eye and tell it ‘No’?”

“I swear,” Keladry said, finding her voice, even as the tears began to come, spilling down to wet the corners of her smile.

The cracked glaive crossed to her other shoulder, tapping it gently. “Then rise a knight, Ser Keladry Delnaimn,” Steve commanded.

The cheers rose as she did, and not just from her comrades. Even the city folk who were there were cheering. She looked around, trying to take it all in, her emotions a mess and her composure cast down. Walt’s crooked grin, Robin bouncing on his heels, Ren’s hungry gaze, Ser Tymor’s satisfied look, she saw it all. Joy for what she had achieved, nerves over the challenges it would mean, regret for the absence of Toby and Grandmother Hellen, thanks for being given a battlefield knighting and not a stiff ceremony before a court of judging stares.

Such thoughts were swept away as her squad and Steve’s broke from their neat lines to surround them, clapping her on the back and sharing well wishes that were caught up in the clamour of the moment. For a moment she even caught Elia’s eye, the woman still unable to completely hide her surprise, and she inclined her head, a silent acknowledgement of debt, even as she stepped away, bouncing her children as they reacted to the sudden noise.

The man who had likely saved her from a short life and an unremarkable death was in front of her again. “I told you, didn’t I?” he said to her, leaning forward to be heard, a true smile on his face despite everything that had come and that they had yet to deal with that day. “The next time you did something worthy, I’d knight you for it.”

Kel laughed wetly. “You are a bad man, Captain.”

“I’ve been told that before,” Steve said. His smile faded, and he held her gaze as he spoke seriously. “There will be people who think this is a joke, that because women aren’t as strong as men you can’t be as skilled, that you didn’t deserve your title or that it’s an affront to the gods.”

She set her shoulders. She knew all too well what would come of it, but she couldn’t for a second regret it.

“Do you remember what we say to those people?” Steve pressed her.

“We say ‘No. You move.’.”

“Good,” he said, giving a single nod. “Then command is yours.”

With an effort of will she regained her composure. Everyone it seemed wished to congratulate her, and it was only the need to keep men on the walls that saved her from being swarmed, more than she already was, at least. She allowed herself to enjoy it, if only for a moment or so, and then it was time to return to the demands of the day. Steve and Walt slipped away, each with their own missions, and she was left with her own.

Before he had left, Walt had handed over the sword that he had been entrusted with, claiming that only a fool would wander a city at war with Valyrian steel on their hip. Its weight sat strangely at her side as she made her rounds, checking on her people and ensuring that they would be as ready as they could be for whatever might come. There was one constant no matter who she spoke to or what task they had - they all greeted her by her title, and every time she heard it her chest filled with warmth.

Ser Keladry Delnaimn.