Chương 37: The Spark

"I'm not sure, milord," the blacksmith said dubiously. His hair was shaved to stubble, and his eyebrows looked like they'd been scorched off one time too many.

"I'm good, but I've never worked with this material before." The interior of his workshop was lit by the glow of his forge, and it was just short of sweltering.

"You won't have to," Steve said.

"I just want a cap put on it to round it out. You'd need some of that valyrian steel to come close to the quality of it anyway." The blacksmith dragged his eyes away from Steve's shield, sitting on a table in his workshop.

"I can do something of the like," he said slowly.

"The balance though…"

"Getting that extra cover back is more important to me than the balance," Steve said.

"I'm not throwing it around anymore." The man's lips quirked in a slight grin at what he likely thought was a joke.

"In that case, give me a day. I'll bump this up the list."

"You don't need to do that."

"I'd rather not be responsible for a weapon the likes of your shield for longer than I need to be, milord," the smith said.

"Fair," Steve said.

"I'll pick it up tomorrow morning then." The blacksmith gave him a distracted farewell, already running his fingertips over the shield and inspecting the damage done to it, and Steve left him to it. His business in the castle forge done, Steve turned his mind to his next task, walking out into the courtyard and the morning sun. Keladry and Walt were waiting for him, dressed similarly to Steve in unassuming clothes that had seen better days, though that just meant that Walt was dressed in his preferred fashion.

The three of them were looking to go unnoticed that day, Steve especially. He knew better than most that people tended to show a different face when they thought no one was watching.

"You never answered my question, Steve," Keladry said as he joined them. Her brown hair had been trimmed short again, and the cut of her shirt highlighted the muscles of her shoulders.

"I didn't?" Steve said, affecting confusion.

"Naerys was humming this morning," Keladry pressed.

"Yeah, she was. Nice tune," Steve said. Keladry gave him a pointed look. Steve smiled guilelessly back. Walt gave a cough, not bothering to hide his amusement.

"How're we gonna do this then?"

"You know what kind of men I'm looking for," Steve said, serious now.

"As far as I can see, the camp is segregated roughly by social class, so we'll split up and pick an area each. By the afternoon, we should be able to find thirty to forty recruits each."

"Do you mean to enlist them all?" Keladry asked. Steve shook his head.

"No. We'll weed them out further once we've gathered them, and if we have to we'll recruit more. I'm not settling for 'good enough' here. Make it clear that this is an invitation to try out, not a guarantee of employment."

"Few nobles won't like that," Walt said. He rubbed at his beard.

"That's their problem, and if that's their reaction we don't want them anyway," Steve said.

"Humfrey and the rest will be going through this selection process too, but with the training we've given them they should manage easily. I'm more interested in their grit and wit than their skill at this stage, anyway."

"Character before ability," Keladry said, nodding slowly.

"There are some I've met that stand out."

"Easy enough," Walt said.

"Where are we going?"

"Knights, men-at-arms, and servants," Steve said.

"Servants will be in the castle, not the camp," Keladry said.

"The servants who are part of the camp, the ones who make it all work," Steve said.

"You want the camp followers then," Walt said.

"Right," Steve said.

"I'll take them. Keladry, you take the knights." He had considered giving her the men-at-arms, but that would leave the knights to Walt, and given he had very publicly cut an ear off one of them, that was probably not the best idea.

"Walt, you've got experience with the men-at-arms, so you'll take them." Walt grunted.

"There's a few veterans about that know me; I'll see what they have."

"We'll meet by the stones you've got the lads stacking two hours after noon," Steve said.

"Knights can be…particular about who they serve with," Keladry said.

"What if they need to be persuaded?"

"Tell them it'll be a hard campaign that only the best are fit for, and that the pay will be ok but they won't have to survive on hardtack and old shoes," Steve said.

"You don't want me to mention your name?" Keladry asked.

"You are gaining a measure of renown."

"We don't want glory seekers," Steve said.

"Nothing worse than a knight that thinks he'll be the one to break the line, if only it can be softened up first," Walt said.

"There's every chance that these knights will be given orders by someone they would normally see as below them," Steve said.

"Won't like that," Walt said, almost chuckling.

"If we pick our recruits right, it won't matter," Steve said.

"Now let's go." They made their way from the castle, standing out slightly amongst the kind of traffic that had cause to go between there and the camp, but once they made it they were just another three figures amongst the mass. Most had already risen, only the lazy or those without duties still abed, and the camp was busy in a routine way.

Walt dropped off first, catching sight of a scowling man almost as grizzled as he was, and Keladry peeled off towards the centre of the camp a few lanes later, leaving Steve to head for the outskirts, the place were few would choose to pitch their tent given the choice, the place where those with the least authority tended to end up.

He could see a mish-mash of services set up, from large tubs of clothes being laundered by women with thickly muscled arms, to rows of pots on fires bubbling away as they cooked stews to feed the army. He even spied a man tinkering with a helmet and a small hammer, tapping at it delicately as he repaired something or other. As much as his group would need that kind of support, that wasn't what he was here for at the moment.

He was looking for those overlooked, who had something to offer if only they were given the chance. Steve stopped by one of the boys minding the stews, unobtrusively offering him a silver groat and nodding at a bowl and spoon. The kid didn't ask him any questions, taking the coin and tucking it away, and then Steve had a snack as he wandered the area, waiting for something to catch his eye. In time, something did. Two things, even.

The first was a washerwoman beating the absolute heck out of a man while a younger woman was hurried away behind her, the man trying to fight back but mostly only succeeding in protecting his head. The second was a group of young men giving the fight a wide berth as they made for the edge of the camp, slings sitting over their shoulders. They had the look of a group on their way to have some fun. The one sided fight was somewhat more pressing however, and he made his way over, the only spectator.

Others glanced at it briefly, but continued on their way, apparently not finding it worth their time. Steve winced slightly as the washerwoman drove her fist into the man's gut, doubling him over. If the man didn't deserve it, he was going to feel like a cad for not interfering.

"Do you think he's had enough?" he called. The woman drove her knee into the man's thigh in a move that Steve knew would leave a painful corked muscle and pushed him over into the dirt before turning to him. She was a plump woman, but under the padding were the kind of muscles that came from hard work. Her pale face was flushed, brown hair mostly tucked away beneath a cloth cap, but her eyes were sharp as she looked Steve over.

"Depends," she said.

"On what?"

"On if he's learned not to come pawing at my girls again," she said, casting a withering look over the groaning man.

"You whore," the man managed.

"Didn't do nothin."

"Hey," Steve said sharply.

"Mind your manners." Another groan was his only response.

"Can I help you, milord?" the woman asked. Despite the tale his clothes told, they were a thin veneer over his build and cleanliness. The man stilled at the 'milord', and began to push himself to his feet, limping away as fast as he could.

"Maybe," Steve said, watching him go.

"What's your name?"

"Betty," the washerwoman said.

"Betty, pleased to meet you," Steve said.

"What's your position here?"

"I'm the head laundress for the camp," Betty said. She crossed her arms under her heavy chest.

"I need a laundress," Steve said.

"Plenty around," Betty said, eyeing him like she wasn't sure if she'd have to run him off or not.

"What do you need washed? For a few coin, my girls can bump you up the queue."

"Clothes for about one hundred men over the course of the war," Steve said. Betty reassed him.

"You're wanting to hire someone then."

"Someone who doesn't mind following along on the march," Steve said.

"We're here, aren't we?" Betty asked.

"I wouldn't be part of an army," Steve said. The woman frowned, trying to puzzle him out.

"Sounds dangerous."

"It would be," Steve said.

"What coin are you offering?" Betty asked, bluntly.

"Fourteen silver stags a month," Steve said. Betty blinked at him.

"You'll want more than one laundress for one hundred men."

"How many would I want?" Steve asked.

"... five, including me," Betty said.

"We could take on other tasks too."

"You're volunteering?"

"I know a good deal when it walks up to me out of the blue," Betty said.

"Figure you chose me for a reason too."

"Your management style caught my eye," Steve said, which only earnt him a look of confusion.

"You won't have the protection of a full army, so I'm looking for a certain character."

"Fewer men around can be a good thing too," Betty said, pressing her lips together in a grimace.

"What would my girls get?"

"Ten stags a month," Steve said. She chewed her lip.

"You're offering a lot."

"I'm asking a lot." The woman struggled with herself.

"I - my girls won't be whores for your men," she said.

"If anyone lays an unwanted hand on them, they will be punished," Steve said.

"Anyone who works for me is under my direct protection." Betty swallowed, not expecting his answer.

"Aye, milord."

"Think it over," Steve said.

"It will be a hard job, and you'll have to learn a few things, but that will come later."

"I'll do it," Betty said, shaking her head.

"I'll have four more girls by the end of the day too." Steve nodded. He remembered the feeling, jumping on an unlooked for opportunity before it could disappear.

"Any time you want out, you can. This isn't Essos." A thought occurred to the woman.

"What was your name, milord?" she asked.

"Steve Rogers," he said.

"You might have heard of me as Lord America." A look of recognition crossed her face.

"Aye," she said.

"I've heard of you."

"Speak with one of my people when you're ready," Steve said. He offered his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, she took it.

"Welcome aboard." They shook, though it was more Steve shaking her hand. Betty marched off with a purpose, heading for a small cluster of her fellows who had been watching their discussion. Steve left her to it. The devil was in the details, and he'd seen to some of them now, but there was more yet to do. It hadn't been long since the young men with the slings had wandered past, and he followed in their path, intrigued.

He hadn't seen anyone carrying a sling in his time in this new world, but he remembered seeing a demonstration at some event that Clint had talked him into attending where a slinger put a lead ball through a mannequin. It wasn't far to find them, as they hadn't gone far.

Just beyond the edge of the camp was an area where a number of trees had been cut down, either for firewood or in anticipation of the camp expanding, and now the group he had seen were taking turns aiming at stumps using small pebbles that each kept in a pouch at their hips. There were just under a dozen of them, most in that awkward stage between teenagers and adults. Steve came to a stop behind them, watching for a while.

They didn't notice him at first, intent on the competition they had going, each calling their shots before they made them. They seemed skilled, or at least experienced, and a miss was cause for friendly jeering, rare as it was. They had to be making shots from at least forty metres away, and their game seemed to revolve around each called shot needing to be more distant than the one previous. He watched as one young man called a small sapling and nailed it, tearing a furrow from it.

"That was a fine shot," Steve said. Caught up in their game, the slingers jumped almost as one when he spoke. The man to make the shot, blond and gangly, was the one to respond.

"Thanks, uh, ser," he said.

"Did you need a message run?"

"Is that what you do?" Steve asked. The blond glanced at his friends, but they threw him under the bus, nominating him as their spokesman.

"When we're not needed for something else," he said.

"This is our rest day, that is. But, if you need something -" he cut himself off, ceasing the stumbling of his words.

"You're fine," Steve said.

"I was just curious when I saw you with your slings."

"We're the best slingers in the Vale," he boasted, suddenly confident.

"That so," Steve said, holding back a smile.

"I killed a clansman once," another one, a redhead, said.

"Got him right between the eyes."

"Really?" Steve asked, his interest rising.

"What range?" He mumbled something, and his friends looked like they wanted to poke fun at him, but held their tongues.

"I didn't catch that," Steve said.

"Ten metres," the young man said.

"But it woulda been further if I'd noticed him earlier!"

"I believe you, seeing some of the shots you've made," Steve said.

"How long have you been practising for?"

"Always?" another said.

"Not much to do when you're minding the flock."

"Is it difficult then?"

"Not for us," said yet another, emboldened by this strange knight's apparent interest in their skill.

"What's the hardest shot you can make?" Steve asked.

"I took out a hawk on the wing before," the first one, the blond, boasted.

"Stopped it from swooping down on a newborn lamb."

"How about you show me?" Steve asked.

"Ser?" several asked, confused.

"I'll throw something up in the air, and you'll try to hit it," he said.

"Won't need to try," the blond said.

"That's the spirit," Steve said. He cast around for a suitable target, and his eye fell on a small log nearby. He stepped over and picked it up. It was a bit of an easy target, so he gripped it and tore it in half, splitting it.

"Ready?" They were staring agog at him, but quickly loaded their slings, separating so they would have room to wind up. He thought as he watched them, turning the start of an idea over in his head. They would never be able to stand in ranks, but as an ambushing or skirmishing force… he put it aside for now. The wood he held was half the length of his arm and almost as wide, and when he saw they were ready, slings whirling overhead or at their side, he hurled it with a flick of his wrist.

It went up and to the side, spinning end over end, and they loosed almost as one. There was a clatter of stone on wood, and Steve's ear picked out four impacts, but the rest were only bare misses. The wood wasn't quite shattered, but it was knocked well off course, and he could see dents and divots in it as it began to fall.

"Not bad," Steve said, considering.

"Not bad at all." His idea was starting to take form.

"Are you happy running messages?" Whatever they had been expecting, it wasn't that.

"Ser?"

"Your jobs, carrying messages," he said, looking them over closer now. They were young, but not that young, and he had been scrawnier when he'd tried to sign up for the War. Proper food and some hard training would take care of that.

"Do you enjoy it?"

"Keeps us fed, ser," the blond said, shrugging.

"They said we didn't have the training to join the muster proper."

"What if you did?" Steve asked. He took them in, gauging their mood.

"You're young. War is dangerous. If you had the chance, would you choose to join?" They shared looks, an unspoken conversation passing between them. There was likely a story that brought a group of young men that all knew each other here like this.

"We're no warriors, ser," the blond said.

"Osric!" the redhead hissed.

"If you wanted slingers, though," Osric said, pushing on, "we can do that."

"Could you teach others?" Steve asked.

"Aye," Osric said.

"They won't be as good as us, but aye."

"Down the camp edge a ways, there's a pile of stones," Steve said.

"Do you know it?"

"The ones those poor bastards have to stack and unstack every day?" one lad asked.

"That's the one," Steve said.

"If you can be there two hours past noon, I'll give you the chance to impress me. Do that, and you'll have a spot in my company."

"Haven't we impressed you already?" the redhead asked. Some of his friends looked like they wanted to swat him, but they held back.

"I know you've got a quick hand and a keen eye," Steve said, "but I'm not taking you to war if I don't think you've got what it takes to survive."

"Are you the one making them stack those stones?" another said. This one had been almost hiding at the back of the group, but they pressed forward now. They were the skinniest of the lot, brown hair falling to their ears, and they looked at him with demanding eyes.

"Ren, you can't-" Osric said, hurried and low. Ren elbowed him, shutting him up.

"I am," Steve said.

"What if we're not strong enough for that?" Ren asked.

"I'm the best slinger here, but I can't lift stones like that." Steve looked Ren over, really looked them over. They were skinny, but so were the rest of them. They also wore a higher necked shirt than the rest. Under his gaze, they swallowed, and there was no lump on their throat.

"For a 'young man'," Steve said, "strength is less important than dedication." He met Ren's eyes, and they stilled, fighting the urge to shrink back. Ren steeled herself, holding her nerve and nodding.

"Dedication. I can do that." Steve looked at the others; they seemed scarcely willing to breathe. It seemed they were well aware of her situation, and he nodded in approval.

"I wouldn't worry about your strength so much anyway," he said.

"Endurance is what you'll be trained for in my company. And you will learn it." For some reason, this didn't seem to reassure them.

"Second hour past noon," Steve reminded them.

"Eat a good lunch, and come ready to work hard."

"We will, Ser," Osric said, determined.

"I'll leave you to your contest," Steve said. He turned and left, heading back into the camp, smiling as he heard rushed murmuring break out behind him. He realised, suddenly, that for Ren at least, he had just become their own Abraham Erskine. There was a warm weight in his chest, and he resolved to live up to the mantle. If they had the potential, he would bring it out. In all of them. His task was not yet done, however, and he trawled the camp lanes in search of recruits.

He was not so lucky as to find another band of skilled slingers, or a washerwoman who could thrash a handsy soldier, but he had some success. A pair of brothers, almost as tall and almost as thick as he was were given an invitation, as was a servant who refused to buckle to the pair of hedge knights trying to bully him into getting them an extra allotment of something from the quartermaster.

Here and there he found ordinary people who he thought had the potential to do well, to be more, if only they were given a chance. He was not looking for the strong or the well trained; Keladry and Walt would find more than enough of that he was sure, he was looking for the raw clay he could mould into the force he was imagining, the hammer that would take out the knees of a larger enemy.

Strength and skill had their place, but a willingness to learn new methods was just as valuable, and blank slates didn't have bad habits to unlearn. Many lords would likely look at him askance if they knew what he planned, but when it was done he would be proved right, he was sure of it. At length, Steve had recruited as many as he thought he would find, at least for now, and the sun was high overhead, just past noon. It was time to make for the stones, and see how Lyanna had managed on the task he had set her to.

He had a good feeling about it. X x X When Steve arrived at his goal, it was to find Lyanna ordering about the men he had recruited alongside Walt like a benevolent tyrant.

"I see you've done well," Steve said, surveying the construction before them. It was drawing some attention from those nearby too, having watched it be erected over the course of the morning.

"Master carpenter was happy to help, when he heard it was you asking," Lyanna said.

"Happier when I told him your men would help out."

"Did I tell you to do that?" Steve asked.

"No, but I figure you would if you'd thought of it," Lyanna said, shameless. Nearby, close enough to hear, Symon gave Lyanna a betrayed scowl. His long hair was plastered to his neck with sweat.

"You said he insisted!"

"Aren't you proud of the help they gave?" Lyanna asked.

"We'd still be working if they hadn't."

"Initiative is always good to see," Steve said.

"Well done all." Symon pulled a funny face, as if he wasn't sure whether to perk up or keep scowling.

"What's this about 'we'?" Gerold asked as he passed by, carrying a length of wood on one shoulder.

"You just stood there and barked orders all day." He liked to tease Lyanna, as an older brother might.

"As Lord America says, a job shared is a job eased," Lyanna said.

"Did I say that?" Steve wondered aloud.

"No, but it sounds like something you'd say, doesn't it?" Lyanna asked. She was almost rocking on her heels. It seemed she'd enjoyed herself today. Steve shook his head, smiling. A dark haired man with hairy arms covered in sawdust approached.

"About done, milord," the master carpenter said.

"We were able to put up almost everything you asked for."

"So I see," Steve said, taking in the obstacle course before him. It was mostly roughly made timber obstacles, but several ditches had been dug as well, and it stretched out a decent way along one edge of the camp, leaving plenty of room for running between each obstacle. He was sure the recruits would love that.

"I appreciate it. You've seen my seneschal for payment?"

"No payment, milord," the carpenter said.

"Lord Arryn saw to it."

"Generous of him," Steve said.

"I'll have to thank him."

"It was an interesting task," the carpenter continued.

"I've not made its like before." The course was a hodgepodge of training and obstacle courses he had seen over the years, cherry picked for those that would be easy to make safely with what they had on hand. Over-under logs, rope climbs, a long dry ditch to run through with a log held overhead, vertical logs to weave through, an eight foot wall to climb over and more.

Steve's personal favourite was the flagpole holding his banner at the end of the course, though he had a feeling the recruits would be less fond of it with what he had planned.

"I'll put it to good use," Steve said. He raised his voice.

"I'm sure you boys will have a great time running it." Jon, recovered from his head wound, shared a dismayed look with Ed.

"But you already recruited us," Jon said.

"You're paying us and everything." It seemed that word had slipped or they'd puzzled out the reason for the task.

"That's true," Steve said.

"You didn't think I'd deprive you of the fun of running the course though, did you?" Another man, Tim, groaned as he passed by with a wheelbarrow full of dirt.

"I think it will be fun," Hugo, the biggest of them, said as he neared with his own barrow.

"You would you great ox," Will said through his scarlet beard as he followed.

"What's that?" Steve said, enjoying the complaints. He was reminded of the few times he'd visited basic training incognito since waking up in the old new world.

"You want to run it a few times now to get used to it?" The men grumbled, but it was in good fun, and they kept at their tasks, putting the finishing touches on the course.

"Don't worry," Steve said.

"With all the suicides and stone stacking we've been having you do, this will feel like a holiday." The first few laps, anyway, but he kept that to himself for now, smiling. Something about the smile made the men suspicious, but they couldn't question him, and the course was finished and tidied up as the day marched on. They disappeared to eat and rest, well used to taking advantage of such opportunities when they could after the training Walt and Keladry had put them through.

Speaking of the two, they joined him just after one in the afternoon. He couldn't remember what the locals called it, naming it after some animal or another.

"Did you have any luck?" Steve asked by way of greeting.

"Some," Keladry said. He noticed her knuckles were raw, a hint of blood on them. He eyed them, raising a brow, and she came close to rolling her eyes when she noticed.

"I had a spirited discussion on the nature of chivalry," Keladry said, dry as the desert.

"I did find some knights whom I believe you will approve of."

"No shortage of men-at-arms interested," Walt reported.

"Figure we'll have to give the boot to a few, but that just means we can be picky."

"Good," Steve said.

"Good."

"I gotta ask," Walt said.

"What in the hells is that?" Steve grinned.

"That is how we weed our applicants out," he said.

"If they can't do the course, they don't make the cut?" Walt asked.

"To a point," Steve said.

"We can train their bodies. What's harder to train is their mind. If they give up before they're spent, if you see someone sabotage another, if they refuse to roll around in the dirt together - they're not what we're looking for."

"A clever method," Keladry said.

"It'll do," Steve said.

"By the end of the day, we should have our company. The only thing left to do is decide how we play it."

"How so?" Keladry asked.

"Who pushes them on, who watches for the good and the bad, and who runs the course to show them how it's done," Steve said.

"It would seem that we are each well suited to a particular role," Keladry said.

"I thought the same," Steve said, "but I thought I'd give you the option."

"You've said what role you want me for," Walt said.

"I know how it's done, and I'm good at it." He was almost smiling through his perpetual scowl.

"I will watch, and ensure none pass who would be unsuitable," Keladry said.

"And I'll run the course and make it look easy," Steve said.

"Try not to break their hearts," Walt said.

"That's what you're for," Steve said.

"Remember: you were tired of their shit years before you ever met them." Walt chuckled, and Steve had a flashback to old Colonel Phillips. A thought occurred to him.

"Hey, Lyanna," he called, and the girl looked over from where she was trading barbs with Gerold. She trotted over.

"Yes ser?"

"Could you go and find Robin? As my squire, I think he'd benefit from running this course too." More glee than was strictly appropriate crossed Lyanna's face, and she nodded quickly.

"I know where he is." They watched as she hurried off, a spring in her step.

"Young love," Walt said, reminiscing.

"I remember when my wife… well, never mind." Steve and Keladry shared a look, and silently decided not to question him, given everything. The sun crept every lower in the sky, and Steve began to look forward to the start of it all. He began to whistle a tune he remembered from his time in England, far too cheerful for what it promised. They might not be ready for war now, but they would be. Oh, they would be. X Steve waited, leaning against one of the vertical logs of the course.

His lads were stealing a moment to rest, thankful for the clouds providing shade as they lay between the camp and the obstacles, and Keladry was at his side, content to enjoy the silence. When the recruits began to gather, they didn't come all at once. The two brothers he had invited were the first to arrive, arms still dirty from whatever task they had been at, and they sat in the dirt near Humfrey and the others, watching and waiting.

Robin was next, dragged along by Lyanna with a look of apprehension on his face. He looked to Steve, as if for salvation, and Steve smiled, gesturing to the obstacles to convey a 'you can do it'. This didn't seem to reassure him, and he lingered with Lyanna. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. More servants trickled in, coming alone or in pairs, and perhaps twenty minutes before the agreed upon hour the men-at-arms began to arrive in groups.

They seemed to mostly be a mix of salty veterans and unblooded youths, and Walt had them gather between course and camp, and he spoke quietly with some of them. When it was almost the hour, the knights began to arrive, some in groups, some alone. Those that wore armour tended towards well used, but also well maintained, though there was one or two whose armour still had the shine of the forge. It was easy to pick them, for they stood apart from the men-at-arms, and didn't speak with anyone not a knight.

Smallfolk continued to arrive, the slingers Steve had met the last large group. Osric and Ren were at their head, and they bore the signs of a fight, Ren with a split lip and Osric a swelling eye. They all seemed in good cheer, but also stood apart from the other groups. Not ideal, but they would learn. One last recruit hurried up, still wringing suds from his arms, and Steve judged it was time. He stepped forward, drawing the attention of those who had gathered on his invitation.

Keladry fell in at his right hand, and Walt left the crowd to stand at his left. All gathered had been watching him with one eye as they waited, but now he had their full focus. There had to be almost one hundred and fifty of them, all told, and they were all watching him, from the knights who had placed themselves at the front, the men-at-arms behind and around them, and the servants and smallfolk scattered about the edges. Steve took a breath, and projected his voice like he was on a parade ground.

"I am Ser Steve Rogers." It was already quiet, social expectations seeing to it, but as Steve spoke it seemed to spread, sounds of life from the camp dimming lest they draw the ire of the man speaking in such a tone of command.

"If you are here, you have been given the chance to become a soldier in my company. I am not looking for simple martial skill, and no one here is guaranteed a place." He swept his eyes over strangers, people he had only just met, Robin, and Gerold, Jon, Symon and the rest.

"I am not Westerosi, and I will not command like one. This is Keladry, my second-in-command, and Walt, my sergeant. If either of them give an order, you obey it like it was from me. If any of these are deal breakers, you are free to leave." He surveyed the crowd. Some were exchanging surreptitious glances, and he let the moment stretch out, but none left.

"Positions are limited. You will be recruited, or you won't," Steve continued.

"The course behind me is designed to let us see what kind of soldier you might be. You will run it in groups. You will give it your best, or I'll know, and Walt will be unhappy with you." Walt was glowering out at the crowd, looking heavily displeased with the state of the world.

"If you are not taking the course, you will be running laps beside it. If you are not running, you are taking the course," Steve said.

"Might we have leave to doff our armour?" a knight asked, one of those in more expensive gear.

"Do you plan on fighting this war without your armour, recruit?" Steve asked. The man was taken aback, but only briefly.

"No, I-""Then why would you want to train without your armour?" Steve pressed." - I understand, Ser Rogers," the man managed. Steve gave him an approving nod, and continued on.

"I will give you each a number. Ones and twos, you will stand on this side or the other side of the first obstacle. Threes and fours, same with the second obstacle. Fives and sixes, the third. Odds on this side, evens on the other. You will not leave your group to join another. Do you understand?" There was a mess of a response, cries of 'aye!', 'ser', and 'milord'. Well, they'd work on that later. Steve went to one end of the crowd, and looked the young man in the eyes.

"One - go now - two, three, four, five, six, one, two…" Soon there was a steady flow of recruits to the first few obstacles, no trace of the previous social segregation to be seen. When the last had been sent on their way, Walt stepped closer to Steve.

"Wasn't sure how your style would go with a larger group, but I guess I was a fool to doubt ye."

"I can be their friend later," Steve said. He watched as the last of the groups gathered in their assigned spots, and he was satisfied that none had tried to join a different zone.

"Walt, you've got this side, Kel, the other. Have them follow as I demo the course."

"How hard you want them run?" Walt asked.

"If they can avoid falling behind too far, I'll be happy," Steve said.

"A tall order," Keladry said, well aware of how hard Steve could push it when he felt like it. Steve flashed her a grin, and they headed to their positions. The recruits were a mix of eager and nervous, some showing that they really weren't that far past boyhood with the gleam in their eyes as they looked over the course, others seeing it as a barrier between them and an opportunity.

Over in the camp proper, the promise of a spectacle saw more and more people wandering over to watch, almost as many now as were going to take the course. The sky was still clouded, and there was a cool breeze blowing. At the start of the obstacles, Steve shook out his arms, stretching lightly.

"You will follow as I demonstrate the course. When it is your turn, you will do as I do, so watch closely!" A thought occurred to him. He had told the knight that they would run the course in armour, but here he was in casual clothes. Nearby, a small boulder caught his eye. It was about the size of his chest, and had been dug out as the course was built, left by the start. Rather than start his run, he stepped over and grasped it by its rocky sides, hauling it up to his chest.

"We don't have to run it with that, do we?" someone in the crowd muttered, alarmed.

"Don't worry," Steve answered, startling the man who had thought he was speaking too quiet to hear.

"I'm just doing this because I don't have my armour." He steadied himself, and the crowd grew intent as it was clear he was about to start. A bird cried, and that was the signal. He burst into a sprint, and his focus sharpened as met the first obstacle. It was the weavers, vertical logs designed to make one weave in between them, stepping left-right-left-right. They were too narrow for the boulder to fight through, so he raised it above his head, zigging and zagging through them agilely.

He was through in an instant, and then he was sprinting once more, boulder back at his chest as he ate up the gap before the next obstacle. The second was a narrow beam, incline and decline, but that was hardly worth mentioning or slowing for, and then he was sprinting towards the third. Walt was bellowing at his recruits to get a move on, while Keladry was already running, her own abruptly realising they should be following.

An eight foot wall came next, and he briefly considered throwing the boulder over, but that wasn't quite in the spirit of things, so he tucked it under one arm instead and leapt, catching the lip of the wall with his free hand. He hauled himself up and over, hitting the ground running on the other side, drawing even with the frontrunners and then passing them. Next came the rope climb, a row of ropes hanging from a wooden structure.

He set the boulder on the ground by one, and for a moment those scrambling to keep pace thought he would leave it there while he climbed, but then he clasped it with his knees and calves and began to climb, rapidly ascending to the top. He slapped the top plank and began to climb down as the middle groups caught up, taking the boulder in his arms once more and making for the next obstacle. He was barely sweating.

After was a set of trenches, chest deep and hardly wide enough for a man, a pile of logs by their starts. Not wanting to leave the men confused, he set the boulder on one shoulder and a log on the other, keeping them above the ground as he jogged through the trenches. Once through, he circled back to return the log, and then he was on to the next, recruits running hard to keep up.

The over-under logs were cleared, as were the sets of low stairs, two steps then four then six, up and down as fast as he could, and then another incline beam, but this one zigzagged, not that it slowed him, and then he was at the last - or as good as the last, anyway.

He didn't know where the lads had gotten them from, but a pyramid of hay bales had been stacked to twice the height of a man, and he held the boulder to his chest as he crouched and jumped vertically to clear each bale, burden stopping him from taking the smarter path of clambering up and over them. He reached the top, and then it was down the other side like a set of stairs and he was done, breathing easily.

He turned to watch the last groups reach the end, the true last obstacle at his back, fluttering in the air.

"That's the course," Steve said to them. Some were looking confident, perhaps given false confidence by the ease with which he had completed it, while others were looking at the small boulder he still held, agape or in awe. Some few were on the verge of glaring at him, but given that Robin was the worst offender he was only inclined to feel smug about it.

"By the end of the day, it will tell me who has what it takes to join me. Are there any questions?"

"How many times do we have to run it, Ser?" Robin called. Exposure had made him wise to his tricks.

"That's a good question, squire of mine," Steve said.

"Any others?" There were none, though many looked between the two of them, and Steve was almost ready to turn them loose. There was just one more thing to take care of.

"One more thing," Steve said.

"You all see the banner behind me?" He didn't wait for an answer.

"It was a gift made by some people I'm very fond of. Once you complete the course, you may make one attempt to get it down and bring it to me. Do so without damaging it, and you are guaranteed a place in my company." There was interest now, many looking upon the banner with hungry looks, and Steve hid a smile.

"If that's too hard," he added, "anyone who can do the course while carrying this boulder through every obstacle also earns a spot." The reaction was different this time, most glancing at the rock he still held and dismissing it immediately. Smart of them. Steve gave Walt a look and a nod, and the man nodded back. He took in a deep breath, seeming to swell.

"Well, what're you waiting for? Move you bastards, move!" Walt bellowed, startling near every man in hearing distance.

"Back to the start, group one goes first, the rest of you keep running! I said now!" Steve watched as Walt got the chance to embody the drill instructor he knew he was born to be, noble knight and smallfolk servant alike put to flight. Keladry set the pace, the months spent travelling and training and trying to keep up with Steve honing her body beyond most. It was time to see what these recruits were made of. X"Recruit, you're not as strong as the man before you so don't try to climb the rope like you are!

Use your legs!" The recruit glanced back at Steve, clinging to the rope with shaking arms. They tried to take his advice, pinning the rope between their knees, but it only helped so much. Steve leapt up a free rope, rapidly climbing to a level with them.

"Like this," he said, bringing his knees up and catching the rope between his feet so that it was draped over one foot, and stepping on it with the other, before pushing himself up.

"See how I'm using my legs?"

"Yes milord," the man managed, mimicking him with a bit of trouble. He made it up the rope, slapping the top plank, and began to slide down.

"Good!" Steve told him, already moving on. Every group had already run the course at least twice, jogging around it while they waited for the group before them to get ahead, and fatigue was starting to show. So far only a few had been quietly dismissed, some for no fault of their own and two for allowing a personal disagreement to bring them to blows, but it was only a matter of time as the afternoon wore on.

A cry of alarm caught his ear, and he looked back to see a man on the ground, having fallen from the wall, and they seemed to be uninjured. He was ready to dismiss it as an accident until he heard a shout.

"YOU!" Walt bellowed, near frothing with fury.

"YES, YOU! STAND STILL LADDIE!" The old soldier descended on a knight behind the wall in a rage, and everyone soon heard why.

"THINK YOU CAN PUSH A MAN OFF A WALL?! IF YE CAN'T BE TRUSTED IN THE YARD, YE CAN'T BE TRUSTED IN THE LINE!" For an instant, the man looked like he might argue, but a second look at Walt's face persuaded him otherwise and he slunk off in shame, dozens of eyes on him. Activity nearby slowed for a moment, caught in the backblast of Walt's spray. This did nothing to help his mood.

"DID I SAY STOP?!" he hollered, and all hurried to continue on.

"Pin your shoulders back, recruit, don't hunch over!" Steve called at a man trudging through a trench.

"Lift that log with your whole body, not just your arms!" Onwards they went, every man covered in dust and grime stirred by the unending laps of the course. It was not as bad as it could have been, between the climate and the greenery, but it was still enough to wear on them, just one more thing to make life harder. Another run of the course was completed, and he sprinted back to join a group he hadn't worked with yet, grinning at them as they sucked in breaths while they waited their turn at the weaver obstacle.

Knight, man-at-arms, or servant, they were all ragged and breathing hard, but they were doggedly determined.

"Good effort recruits," Steve said.

"Keep it up." Ren the slinger was part of this group, and she stared at him, running on pure spite. Steve gave her a nod and a thumbs up, impressed by her persistence. She seemed to understand that he took enjoyment in their collective suffering, and her stare grew deadened, not shifting until it was her time to run the course. Steve watched as recruits attempted the course again, familiarity growing but muscles tiring.

Some began to stagger off to the side, some to recover, some to collapse, and some to vomit, and these were watched carefully. Those that dragged themselves back into it received encouragement, a pat on the back, kind word or grunt, but those who took too long or did not push themselves as hard were marked, watched closely for their effort and given one last chance. Those who unknowingly failed to make the most of it were tapped on the shoulder and thanked for their effort, but asked to leave.

The numbers of those running the course began to thin slowly, and all those who remained were not blind to the fact. The boulder remained where Steve had left it, untouched save for one knight who had picked it up and immediately set it back down earlier, knowing it for a fool's errand, but every single recruit made an attempt at the flagpole. Their efforts were futile, the closest any had come was to grasp the banner, only to remember Steve's warning not to damage it.

It still billowed in the breeze, but he was optimistic. The day continued, orange sun beginning to dip below the clouds, and the difficulty of the test began to tell. Fatigue had well and truly set in, many recruits barely able to muster the energy to look at Steve incredulously as he ran the course again and again, or at Keladry as she jogged up and down it without rest.

Walt had slowed, marching up and down at a slower pace, but his voice hadn't flagged at all, still injecting those it was directed at with a shot of adrenaline. They had almost thinned the herd to Steve's satisfaction, and he was proud to see Robin still staggering along. Lyanna had spent most of the afternoon shouting encouragement to him as he passed, and at first the others in his group had mocked him in good humour for it, but now it seemed they wished for some cheer of their own.

The lads he had taken up into the mountains were all still in it too, goading each other on as they passed each other, scattered as they were, and Steve approved. He was glad to see his gamble on them had paid off. Sometimes folk only needed the chance. The time came that enough potential recruits had been sent on their way, and Steve knew he should probably call it, but he couldn't help but glance at the banner, still flying. He had hoped, but it didn't look like it was going to be. One more.

He'd give them one more lap, not that he'd tell them that, and see if anyone could do it. Steve set himself by the flagpole, watching as each recruit finished the course and made another attempt at the banner. The enthusiasm had gone out of most of them, seemingly having accepted that the only way out was through, to outlast those beside them or pass whatever bar had been set. Still, there were some who still tried.

Ed, the blond villager who was good with knots had wrapped himself around the pole and inched his way up like a caterpillar, only to slide down, sweat slick, when he tried to untie the banner from the rope holding it in place at the top. Just as he began to resign himself, he noticed a figure staring at him. It was Ren again. Her group had just finished making their attempts and moved on, but she was watching him, brown hair plastered with sweat and limbs trembling minutely.

She looked from him to the banner and back again, expression curling in sour realisation, and he began to hope.

"You want the banner," Ren said.

"I do," Steve said. His tone was a direct contrast to her own.

"Strength is less important," she said, repeating his words to him, though she didn't sound like she wanted to hear the answer.

"It is," Steve said. His lips twitched, barely, but she saw it, and her gaze grew venomous. Slowly, Ren staggered over to the flagpole. Rather than attempt to climb it as she and every other recruit had done over the course of the afternoon, she sank to her knees, shoulder leaning against the pole, and began to fiddle with the rope at the base that kept the flag in place. Tired fingers were clumsy, but she had the knot undone, and the banner fell, draping over her like an overlarge blanket.

The once goatherd struggled out from under it, trying to keep it out of the dirt as she gathered it up. All around, recruits and spectators alike had seen what she had done, or were being told by those that had, and a hush began to spread as they watched to see what would happen. Exhausted, Ren trudged over to him, and fought to raise the heavy bundle so as to drop it in his arms. Steve accepted the bundle, steadying her by the shoulder as she threatened to topple over.

"Well done," he said.

"You've earned your position in my company." For a moment, the words didn't seem to bring her any joy, but then she managed to bare her teeth. It might've been a smile.

"Lyanna!" Steve called.

"Ser?" Lyanna answered, trotting up from where she had been watching. The camp edge was thick with spectators now, some more distinguished than others.

"Is everything ready?" he asked, handing the banner off to her.

"Just as you asked," Lyanna answered.

"Good. Guide Ren here over there. He looks like he could use something to drink," Steve said. Ren gave him a dead eyed look, but there was something deeper behind it, a core of gratitude that shone through despite the suffering he had put her through. Just by looking at her, he could tell he held the beginnings of loyalty, the start of something forged of will and steel, and he met her gaze freely. He nodded, and she returned it. Sometimes, all folk needed was a chance.

As Lyanna led Ren away, Steve turned back to the rest. Many had slowed or halted as they watched, and he could see in real time as they castigated themselves for not thinking of anything but climbing the pole. He held his fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle, halting any motion to return to running, drawing in those not nearby.

"To everyone still standing," Steve called out, "congratulations. You've shown you have what it takes." It took a moment to penetrate minds clouded by fatigue, but when it did they could not help but cheer. Smiles sprang up and backs were clapped, men turning to those they had been run ragged beside for hours to celebrate.

"Food and drink is waiting for you," Steve said.

"You've earned it. Take the rest of the day to rest and recover. The real training starts tomorrow." Some almost quailed at the thought of something worse to come, but tomorrow was a long way away, and the promise of food was a potent distraction. Like zombies, they shuffled after Walt and Keladry as they called for their attention and led them off after Lyanna, to where an area of the camp had been set aside for Steve and his soldiers.

For now there was only an outdoor mess, covered by a tarp, but soon there would be rows of tents and a sparring circle. Stews and bread, ale and water, all from the castle kitchens waited for them, a reward after a hard day. Steve smiled as he watched them go. He had a good feeling about them. With the spectacle over, many of those who had lingered to watch began to depart, their entertainment ended, but not all did.

There were those who actually had cause to be in the area, but also some few who had business with Steve. He spied Toby nearby, hopefully having completed the task Steve had given him earlier, seated upon Khal and looking dangerously bored. The wild child on the black stallion was an incongruous sight, drawing looks from passerby, but that was all. More pressing though was Elbert, having arrived towards the end of things, and approaching now that Steve had a spare moment.

"Steve," Elbert said as he neared. He was dressed in the colours and finery as befit an Arryn, and wore his sword at his hip. He looked to have something weighing on his mind.

"Elbert," Steve said.

"What brings you here?'

"Uncle wished to hear how your designs played out," Elbert said, looking over the course. Now that it was unused, a few spectators had approached this or that obstacle to try it for themselves.

"I think it went well," Steve said.

"A good base to start from."

"If this is the training you have your men doing, you will hardly need horses," Elbert said, cracking a faint smile.

"I had my ward look into that, actually," Steve said.

"But we'll see." Elbert made a noise of agreement, but he seemed distracted, looking out over the obstacles without seeing them.

"Something wrong?" Steve asked.

"Is there an army on its way?"

"No, no more than there already was," Elbert said.

"The Reachmen go to war like they prepare for tourneys, and we've little word from the Westerlands, to say nothing of Dorne…" He sighed.

"The Maester had to take Stannis' leg today. Dosed him with milk of the poppy and cut it off below the knee."

"How is he?" Steve asked. Losing a limb…even back home, it wasn't easy. He didn't want to think about what it might mean in a culture as martial as the Westerosi. Elbert grimaced.

"He woke briefly earlier, but would not speak with anyone."

"I've worked with soldiers that have lost limbs before," Steve said.

"I can speak with him."

"If you can get him to talk," Elbert said.

"He would not acknowledge my Uncle or Lord Stark."

"If I'm going to escort him home, I'll get through to him eventually," Steve said.

"It may be safer for him to see out the war here," Elbert said. Steve gave him a side eye.

"... he lost a leg, he's not on death's door."

"Rare are the men who recover from such a wound."

"You think Stannis isn't one of them?" Elbert ran a hand through blond hair.

"Perhaps. I'm told the early days matter the most." The sounds of the camp washed over them as they fell quiet for a moment, considering.

"I'll go see him tomorrow," Steve said.

"Give him time to himself, and then a helping hand or a kick in the ass."

"You do not mince words, do you Steve," Elbert said, almost snorting a laugh, though it was lacking in humour.

"Different folk need help in different ways," Steve said. He thought about the work he'd done at the VA with Sam, and then the work after the Snap.

"If nothing else, I know some exercises that can help after losing a limb."

"He would appreciate that more than anything, I think," Elbert said.

"Tomorrow then," Steve said.

"Any more word, after yesterday's news?" The ravens had been flying all day for those with the eyes to see them.

"Nothing so dramatic," Elbert said, glad for the change in subject.

"Some lords have taken it ill, but others are furious. We will march soon, I think."

"How soon?" Steve asked. He knew they wouldn't have as much time as he wanted to train his soldiers before they had to march, but it was seeming like they'd have even less than he thought.

"Perhaps a fortnight," Elbert said, leaning in to speak quietly.

"Perhaps less. It will depend on how certain talks go."

"Two weeks," Steve said to himself. Two weeks to get them up to snuff physically, and skills could be taught on the march."

"It seems I am only the bearer of bad news today," Elbert said.

"It's war," Steve said, shrugging.

"At least I will have a tale for my Uncle," Elbert said.

"Watching your men vie was quite something." Steve smiled, and they spoke on the training for a time, sharing tales of the day and of their own in the past. At length, after Steve told a tale of mischief that Dum Dum and Gabe got up to in order to escape drills, Elbert begged off, citing other responsibilities.

"Another day, I'll tell you how I hid my knight master's shield after using what I thought was polish on it," Elbert said, shaking his head.

"I'll hold you to it," Steve said. They said their farewells and went their separate ways, Elbert for the castle, and Steve looking for Toby. The boy was still waiting nearby, and the way he and Khal were eyeing a nearby man-at-arms told him he should probably find something for him to do.

"Toby," Steve called. It was Khal that looked over, even as Toby continued to eyeball the man-at-arms, and the destrier plodded towards him. Toby was forced to break his stare as Khal reached Steve and nosed at his pockets.

"Don't act like you don't get treats," Toby told the horse.

"Ye know you're spoiled." He sounded just like Keladry when she was stern with him.

"How did you go today?" Steve asked, rubbing Khal's neck.

"Ehh," Toby said.

"Lotta folk wanting horses."

"I figured," Steve said. If he was going to lead a mobile force to cause trouble, it would help if they were actually mobile, hence the task he had set Toby on.

"How bad is it?"

"Could be worse," Toby said.

"Ye can get 'em, they're just not great. Paying gold for silver, too."

"How many can we get?" Steve asked.

"As many as you wanted, if you want to spend the coin," Toby said.

"Found a man doing droves, but he's been doing them a while now."

"So the best mounts are probably spoken for," Steve said.

"Mmm," Toby said, nodding.

"Or we could get a coupla decent ones for the same price a head."

"How many?"

"Twenty or so," Toby said.

"Enough to train them on," Steve said, considering.

"Gotta be more horses elsewhere, too," Toby said. They could always buy or commandeer more mounts later.

"We'll get twenty five horses to start," Steve said.

"How much are they asking?"

"Four dragons a head." Steve frowned.

"You're not kidding about the price."

"I could get him to drop it," Toby said, trying to be sly.

"No one wants ta buy an angry horse."

"Toby," Steve said, refusing to put his hands on his hips. Was this how Bucky always felt, back in Brooklyn?

"What?" he asked, unrepentant. Steve sighed.

"Is he mistreating them?"

"Nooo…"

"Has he done anything to deserve you being all…you?" Toby grumbled some more.

"Go see Naerys, and tell her what we need," Steve said. His spirits rose slightly at the thought of Naerys, and of the evening they'd spent together.

"She'll be able to bargain him down or get some equipment included." 100 gold dragons wasn't nothing, but no one said outfitting a company would be cheap.

"She was takin' lunch with Ma and the ladies last I saw," Toby said.

"I can find 'er."

"Good. In the meantime, see if you can find some packhorses too," Steve said.

"I don't want to be slowed down by wagons, but we'll still need to carry supplies." Toby's face turned calculating.

"I might know some." Steve gave him a look.

"He don't spare the whip, and he hardly looks after 'em right," Toby said.

"So long as they deserve it, it's fine, right?" Steve spared a moment to consider if he had been teaching the kids a warped set of morals.

"If they abuse those that can't defend themselves, then yes," he said, "but, but," he stressed as the kid began to grin, "you have to make sure of it, otherwise it's you who becomes the bully."

"Yeah, o' course," Toby said.

"Just, don't be afraid to ask Robin and Lyanna for help if you need it," he said, remembering the trouble they got up to at Harrenhal.

"Right," Toby said, Khal already turning away.

"Twenty five fightin' horses, dozen packhorses, done. Bye." Steve decided that it really wasn't his problem. He had thought once that wrangling the Avengers had been his comeuppance for the grey hairs he'd given Bucky, but he had been wrong, clearly. X x X Steve stood at parade rest in his heavy plate armour as he surveyed the group before him, standing in loose ranks. The morning sun shone down on the open ground where they gathered, just on the current edge of the camp.

One hundred and seven souls all told, and he had taken on the responsibility to train them into an effective fighting force and to do his best to bring them home safely. It would not be an easy task, but little worth doing ever was. To his disappointment, they seemed to have fallen back into grouping by social standing, though he spied a few here and there that had worked together yesterday standing close. Walt and Keladry were with him, of course, and Robin was in the front row.

He was amused to see that very few of the knights had arrived in their armour today.

"Now that you've all eaten your fill," Steve began, projecting his voice, "it's time to start the real training." There were a few hidden groans, but for the most part they were too appreciative for the breakfast Steve had arranged at the mess to feel proper dread. It was still the only part of 'his' camp that had been constructed, but it was a crucial part of his morale building plans.

"I think we'll start the day with a nice run," Steve said, giving them his 'Boy, Isn't This Clean Living Just Swell?' smile.

"Are you ready?" Scattered and disparate were the answers, even if they were positive, and Steve affected a frown.

"In the field, when I ask you a question I expect to hear 'Yes ser!' or 'No ser!'," Steve told them.

"Do you understand?" There was a pause, and then a rolling 'Yes ser!' came. Steve's frown deepened.

"I said, do you understand?"

"Yes ser!"

"That's better," he said approvingly.

"Keladry, you have the lead." Keladry stepped forward. She was wearing her breastplate, cuisses and greaves, just as Steve was.

"From the right, you will fall in after me in rows of four," she ordered, pointing to her left. She turned, breaking into an easy jog, heading away from the camp and towards the main road. The men began to follow, already threatening to turn into a messy mob, but that was where Walt and Steve came in.

"In fours you were told!" Walt shouted at them. He too was wearing armour, though only his old cuirass.

"Hold, until those to your right have gone!" Steve called.

"Don't worry, you'll get your chance!" With browbeating and helpful advice, they managed to get them going in a messy column, again drawing the eye of those they passed. Many seemed to be pitying them. With Keladry at the front, and Walt bringing up the rear, Steve was free to run up and down the line, making sure all were keeping a steady pace as they went.

"You in the armour, I like your initiative!" Steve told one knight as he passed him. The man looked like he was already regretting his choices, but he managed a nod in return.

"What's your name?"

"Henry, ser," the knight said. He wasn't yet breathing hard, though he was running with the gingerness that spoke of sore muscles.

"Keep it up Henry," Steve said, before moving on, swiftly passing half the column.

"Hugo, pick those feet up! You marched through the mountains with me, this is a walk in the park compared to that!" Onwards they went, and through it all Steve ran rings around the column, giving out encouragement and learning names. The camp and even the castle grew small at their backs as Keladry led them along the main road, before turning down a smaller path that led off it. It was at a slight incline, and Steve had Kel slow surreptitiously as he saw some of the men starting to flag.

They entered the fingers of the forest that covered the mountains, the shade a respite from the sun, but still they ran on. Eventually, they reached their goal, a grassy field that was fairly flat, and Steve called a halt. There were barrels of water waiting for them, and many eyes lit up at the sight of them.

"Walk for a minute, and then get a drink," Steve ordered.

"Then you can take a seat and rest." The men broke apart, cooling down from the run, and the three leaders met up by the side of the clearing where they could keep an eye on it all.

"Invigorating," Keladry said. Her hair was sweat slick, sticking to her ears.

"I would not have cared for that run before I joined you."

"Practice does it," Steve said.

"How're you going Walt?"

"Not as young as I used to be," Walt said, taking long, deep breaths without panting.

"Good thing you feed us right." As much as the run had been worth it, it wasn't the main goal of the day. He had brought his troops out here to speak with them, to lay out his expectations and demands of them as a company, as well as what he would offer them in return. When he judged they had recovered enough to listen to his words, Steve stepped up, drawing their attention. They had sat themselves in the shade of the treeline in a curving line, and he was able to take them all in as he stood before them.

"I'm not going to make you run again, yet," he said, smiling lightly. He wasn't projecting with his parade ground voice this time, though he still made himself heard with ease.

"First, I want to talk with you about what you're getting into here." He took a moment to look them over, meeting as many eyes as he could.

"You are going to war. Some of you have seen it before, most of you haven't. Those of you that haven't, you don't know yet. Look to the veterans when it comes. They'll help you survive long enough to learn." Some of them were uncertain, others frowning, but there were nods as well. Walt was one of them, the weathered men-at-arms he seemed to know the others.

"You know I'm not from Westeros," he continued.

"I won't command like you're used to, and I won't fight like you're used to. While you're under my command, I expect certain things from you. I expect each and every one of you to act as a knight, and I don't care what your rank or social position is. The core values of knighthood - loyalty, honour, integrity, the protection of those who can't protect themselves - these are standards that this company will aspire to. All of us."

The reactions here were mixed, some the spines of some straightening, while others seemed uncertain.

"There are other things I demand from you," Steve said, his tone hardening.

"First - there will be no rape. There will be no pillaging. You will act as men, not animals, and if you cannot abide by these demands, you will leave now." The clearing was deathly still, no one wanting to so much as shift and draw attention to themselves.

"If you witness rape, no matter the one doing it, you put a stop to it, by any means necessary," Steve said.

"I don't care if it's a lord or his heir. If you have to kill them to save the victim, you do it, and I will protect you from any reprisal. You have my word." He was grim as he delivered his words. He knew well how war made beasts of men, and he would not have it. Not under his watch. Men were nodding now, and it heartened him to see the current of approval going through the crowd.

"Second - as far as the war goes, everyone in this company is equal. I know some of you are knights; you might even rule land. Others are smallfolk. I don't care. While you serve here, the only thing that matters is keeping the man next to you alive. We will not be fighting with the main armies, and we don't have time for etiquette getting in the way of deciding whose turn it is to dig the latrine that night, or who's on cleanup duty after dinner. Everyone fights. Everyone cleans. Everyone suffers together. Clear?"

There was no response, as they seemed to still be taking in his words. A few of the knights were almost scowling. Steve raised a brow.

"I said, clear?"

"Yes ser!" came the response, startling a nearby flock of sparrows. It wasn't the most sincere agreement on the whole, but it was enough to work with.

"Good. I know my standards are higher than most, but I offer more than most in return. First and most important -" he grinned, inviting them to share the joke "- fair pay." There was some low laughter through the ranks, and more grinned in turn.

"If you are a knight, or you fought in the War of Ninepenny Kings, you will receive two silver stags per day," Steve said. He watched their reactions, saw knights nodding like they had expected it, and grizzled men-at-arms looking cautiously pleased but not surprised.

"Those with training but no experience of war get one stag and four copper stars. The rest of you earn one silver stag." It was fair, though not overly generous, as Naerys had given him a Look when he had suggested higher figures, especially considering the next part of his pay plan.

"You won't be inexperienced or untrained for long. When you gain these, your rate of pay will rise to match. By the end of the war, I expect you will all be earning two stags per day." That got the reaction he was expecting. Someone choked off an oath, and a storm of muttering swept through the ranks, centred on the young armsmen and the smallfolk. He could see a few doing sums with their fingers, disbelieving the answers they came to and checking again.

"You will be taught new skills, and new ways of fighting. If you distinguish yourself, you may be promoted. If you are wounded beyond healing, you will be helped. If you are slain, your family will receive a year's wages," Steve said. He did his best to show his sincerity, but he would prove himself to them with his deeds, not his words, and he eased off a bit.

"You'll also eat better than any of the poor bastards not in this company." Breakfast was still a recent memory, as were the envious looks of those whose tents neighboured their rough mess, and the promise of more of the same was well received. There was nothing quite like fresh bread and honeyed oats to start the day.

"You know my expectations, my demands, and what I offer in return," he said, bringing his speech to a close.

"If for any reason you do not wish to join my company, you may leave now without consequences. But you need to decide now." One hundred and seven souls stared back at him, and not a one amongst them moved to leave.

"Good," Steve said.

"Do any of you have any questions for me? Ask them now, because you won't have the energy later."

"Are we to be sellswords, then?" a man called. He was a hedge knight, and he didn't sound disgruntled, only curious.

"No," Steve said.

"I don't know the particulars of the compact with your lord, but you're here because you were already going to war. The money is just a bonus." He waited, expectant.

"Where are we fighting?" another asked, emboldened by the casualness of Steve's response.

"To be determined," Steve said.

"It will depend on where we can do the most damage to the enemy. More than likely, we'll be escorting St- Lord Stannis home, and going from there."

"We really won't be with the armies?" a young armsmen asked.

"Not even the Stormlanders? Ser." He sounded a touch disappointed.

"We won't be," Steve confirmed.

"But don't worry, wherever we end up, you won't be bored."

"Did you kill the Smiling Knight with one punch?"

"Is it true you defeated Ser Barristan twice?"

"Sounds like you're ready for more exercise!" Steve said, clapping his hands together and enjoying the groans of the crowd. It was time to introduce them to the joys of suicide runs and planks. They would like it, he was sure. X Later, after the men had been run ragged and introduced to muscle groups they didn't know they had, Steve released them for a late lunch under Walt's sharp eye while he went to take care of something more personal.

Naerys wasn't in their shared suites, leaving him disappointed, so he bathed quickly and put on the kind of clothes expected of a noble. It wasn't shame or fault that saw him making his way through the castle halls, heading for a specific guest room, but he would be lying if he said he didn't feel some level of responsibility for what had happened. If nothing else, he could offer more than platitudes, so he would. He came to the door, and knocked three times. After a long pause, there was a reply.

"Enter." Steve did so, closing the door behind him. His nose twitched immediately at the heavy scent of flowers in the air, wafting from a bowl of petals on a vanity to his left. To the right, the window of the room was open, letting in cool air, and across another door led further inwards, but the bed against the same wall held the man he was here to see.

"Lord Stannis."

"Lord Steve," Stannis said. He was propped up by pillows, a book in hand, and the blanket only covered one leg. The other, wrapped in bandages, sat atop the covers. It ended just below the knee.

"I heard the news," Steve said. The chair from the vanity had been pulled over beside the bed, and he took it.

"Elbert mentioned your intent to visit," Stannis said.

"You needn't worry. The blame for my crippling does not lay with you."

"You were injured in my care," Steve said.

"That makes it my responsibility." A look of irritation crossed the kid's face.

"You did not lay the trap, nor did you fire the arrow. The fault does not-""I didn't say fault," Steve said.

"I said responsibility." He was reminded that Stannis was barely older than Robin, and then realised that Keladry was only a few years older than Stannis. He felt like an old man.

"If you wish to split hairs," Stannis said stiffly.

"I do," Steve said. Speaking with the kid was making him feel like slightly less of an old man, though.

"How's the leg?"

"Do you know, you are the first to ask me outright?" Stannis said.

"It's not going to grow back because people don't like to talk about it," Steve said. The hint of what might possibly be called the hint of a smile crossed Stannis' face for a second.

"The maester tells me that the infection has not spread."

"That's good," Steve said.

"What exercises does he have you doing?" Stannis frowned for a moment.

"I am on strict bedrest."

"But after?" Steve asked.

"What kind of regimen are you looking at?"

"There has been no discussion of such," Stannis said. Steve stared at him for a moment.

"I thought Maesters were doctors."

"It depends on the links they forge," Stannis said.

"Links?"

"Different links signify different fields. The more they have of the same, the greater their expertise," Stannis said. Steve thought back to Pycelle at the Red Keep and Baldrich at Harrenhal. He remembered them wearing one, though he hadn't known the significance.

"How many does this maester have?"

"Two of silver, for medicine," Stannis said.

"Is that low?"

"It is not high."

"... I'm going to give you some exercises to do," Steve said.

"You can start doing them in a few days once you've healed up a bit." Stannis watched and listened, expression carefully neutral.

"For now, try to avoid staying in the same position for too long, especially the joints on the amputated leg," Steve said.

"You haven't been letting your leg hang off the bed, have you?" The kid shook his head, hands clasped over his book.

"Good, avoid that," Steve said.

"I'll write down those exercises for you." He still had plenty of charcoal left from his purchase in King's Landing months ago. He could add some diagrams too. Stannis was staring at him now, brow furrowed.

"Why are you making this your concern?" He waved Steve off as he made to reply.

"You speak of responsibility, but that does not extend to playing the maester. Why?" Steve fought the urge to throw his hands up in the air.

"Because it's the right thing to do." Why was this such a difficult concept for people here to accept? He was beginning to feel like a broken record.

"I've worked with people who have lost limbs before. I can help, so I will."

"And what will your help amount to?" Stannis asked, and the bitterness he had been hiding began to peak through.

"How to be less of a cripple? How to be less of an embarrassment as I limp along? I will never fight again."

"Your worth as a person is not defined by your ability to fight," Steve said, voice sharp.

"Even if you never raise a sword again, nothing about that makes you less of a man."

"You are foreign," Stannis said, leaning back on his pillows.

"You do not understand."

"I have seen more war and death, and what it leaves behind, than anyone on this continent," Steve said, and something in his tone made Stannis freeze.

"I understand plenty." Stannis struggled with himself, looking for the right words.

"Then what do I do? How do I-" he broke off, and looked out the window.

"Battles are rarely won by single men," Steve said.

"They're won by commanders. If the fight means so much to you, find a way to stay in it."

"Men won't follow a cripple."

"So don't be a cripple." This broke Stannis' facade, and he looked incredulously from Steve to his stump and back.

"I knew - know a man who lost the ability to walk," Steve said.

"Took a wound in his spine. It wasn't easy, but he got back on his feet with a prosthesis. Fought again." He wasn't going to mention that it had taken a prosthesis built by Tony Stark to do it.

"I will not hop around on a peg leg," Stannis said.

"Better to accept my fate than to make a fool of myself trying to avoid it." He sounded like he was repeating the words of another.

"So we'll build something better," Steve said, shrugging.

"You seem to have all the answers," Stannis said, looking him over.

"You've not-" he cut himself off, frowning.

"I wasn't always this size," Steve said.

"I was small and scrawny once. Didn't let that stop me from getting my head boxed in." Stannis didn't reply, and a silence crept over the room. The cry of some bird of prey drifted through the window, and the kid's frown deepened.

"I will think on your words," he said at last.

"Alright," Steve said.

"Before I go - I'm putting together a small force that I mean to deploy in the Stormlands. Do you still plan on returning to Storm's End by ship?" It took Stannis a moment, but he remembered their previous conversation on the topic.

"I did, before." He glanced at his stump.

"If you stick with it, my men and I can escort you there," Steve said.

"No sense in going separately."

"Lord Arryn and Lord Stark have suggested that I remain here," Stannis said.

"You said that Storm's End would need a commander," Steve said, not bothering to hide his smirk. Stannis gave him an irritated look.

"Storm's End has an able castellan."

"Are they a Baratheon?" A grunt was his answer.

"Keep it in mind."

"... I will."

"I'll leave you to it then," Steve said.

"Need anything while I'm here?"

"No, I - yes, actually," Stannis said.

"The bowl of petals. Please, get rid of them." Steve snorted a laugh, clearing the heavy scent from his nostrils.

"Wouldn't want to come in here with an allergy," he said, rising from his chair. He grabbed the bowl, catching another heavy whiff, and made for the window. There was nothing important below, and the bowl was emptied out and returned to its place.

"I'll send someone by with the exercise instructions if I can't find the time," Steve said.

"Take care of yourself now."

"And you, Steve." X x X For the next two weeks, Steve worked his recruits to the bone, sending them to bed every day only after having wrung every scrap of effort from them that he could and feeding them with fare more suited to a lord's table. They learned an affectionate kind of hate for him, and if he hadn't been right there beside them, crawling through the muck, stacking stones, and running for miles on end in full armour, they might have mutinied.

The knights learnt a new appreciation for skills they might have once dismissed, the men-at-arms were eager to prove worthy of the pay of a knight, and the servants had yet to loosen their grips on the opportunity that had fallen into their laps. Every waking moment was dedicated to learning or training, oftentimes both. There was not a man in the company who wanted to earn Walt's ire, disappoint Keladry, or give Steve cause to think they weren't giving their all.

At the end of the first week, Steve pulled them from the main camp and led them on a gruelling march into the countryside in full gear and carrying all their equipment. The knowledge that they would soon have horses to share the burden with did little to soothe the aching muscles and growing blisters, though Steve's promise that they would sweat now to avoid bleeding later quieted the worst of the habitual grumblers. Steve's introduction of what he called 'marching cadences' left them… of mixed feelings.

"Early one morning in the pouring rain, Cap woke me up and said 'time to train'', We'll jog five miles and run three more, Cap is right, sleepin' in's a chore. PT! It's good for you! It's good for me! We're eight miles down and I'm having fun, Halfway done this fucking run. PT! It's good for you! It's good for me! Two more miles and it's time to jog, I'd kill for an ale and a whole roast hog. PT! It's good for you! It's good for me! Fifteen miles when the end's in sight, We're still going on pure spite. PT!

It's good for you! It's good for me! Sixteen miles in the pouring rain Cap is gonna make us do it again." The promise of a rest day, and the barrels of wine that Steve had sent Toby ahead with as he trained the new horses, provided motivation enough to see them through the march. What followed was a crash course in woodcraft, as Steve passed on what he had learned in Europe during the War, showing them every trick and skill he knew to make living on the march more bearable.

Smokeless fires, how to dig a safe latrine, where to make camp and why, how to make camp not just well, but quickly… all this and more he drilled into their heads. Some the hedge knights and veteran armsmen already knew, but even they learned something, and their respect for Steve grew as he demonstrated that he wasn't just a skilled fighter.

Under Steve's guiding hand, the social barriers between the men began to break down, helped along by Walt proving he didn't need to be a knight to dump one on their arse when they got cheeky, and the sight of Keladry going through her glaive routine each morning ensured they had nothing but respect for 'him' from the start.

When they returned to the Gates of the Moon, it was with the beginnings of bonds forming between every member of the company, and Steve gave them two days off as reward for their efforts, broken only by lessons in horse riding for those yet without the skill. Then, near two weeks to the day since the company had been formed, a surge of excitement swept the camp. Orders had been passed down from above, and it was time to march.

House Grafton had proclaimed their continued loyalty to the Targaryens, and Lord Arryn meant to answer. The march across the Vale was quick, for such a large body of men, and the ravens flew daily. The lords held conference with one another, negotiating and jockeying for position, and from what Steve observed it was a full time job for the high lords to keep them in order, let alone command the army. He kept his nose out of it, focusing on cramming every scrap of training into his men that he could.

The army proper grew to pity them, watching them pass by their column in a quickmarch, their mad commander singing out as he ran circles around them in full armour, but this only turned into a point of pride for them. They were cycled through the horses available as required, learning and recovering, trading marching sores for saddle sores, and given what snatches of weapons training they could manage on the march. Then, almost a month after setting out, they made it to Gulltown, the only city in the Vale.

X"Lord Grafton has been given every opportunity to recant his position," Yohn Royce said, the focus of every lord in the large tent. He sat at the table in its middle, as did every lord whose stature demanded it, while the lesser nobility crowded around it. Rickard and Jon sat at either end, holding court, those closest to them by their sides.

For Jon that meant Elbert and Denys Arryn, amongst other advisors, while for Rickard that meant his son Brandon and the few lords he had taken with him to King's Landing that had remained with the muster. Stannis had taken a spot just down from Elbert, his crutch leaning against his chair, and anyone who had thought to comment had changed their mind after glancing from it to the kid's face and seeing the pugnacious look he wore.

Steve did not have a seat at the table, but nor was he relegated to the tent walls, standing just behind Yohn. Across the tent, Steve caught sight of a familiar face, and frowned as he tried to place it. He was middle aged, dark hair greying, and had the build of a fighter. The thought triggered a memory - it was Ser Markus of Strongsong, a man he had fought in the melee at Harrenhal, and he gave him a nod, receiving one in turn.

"He has chosen the oaths that mean the most to him," Jon Arryn said. In armour and the colours of his House, he looked younger, more vital.

"We will give him one last chance on the morrow, out of respect, but after he denies us we will take the city." A low rumble of agreement swept the tent. After a long muster, the lords were eager for battle, and keen to maintain their initiative. There had been no word of battles in the south as yet, and they knew that tomorrow, the war would begin in truth.

"The people of Gulltown are not our enemies," a lord that Steve didn't recognise said, sitting close to Jon.

"Just so," Jon said, approving.

"It is vital that this does not become a sack, though I think it unlikely that a Vale army would lose itself in such a manner."

"Word shall be passed to the men," Rickard said.

"Now we must plan our attack."

"The city gates will be most strongly defended, but they offer a swift path into the city should they be taken," a lord said.

"Grafton knows that, and they'll sell them dearly," another answered, kicking off a round of discussion. Steve thought as he listened. His company wasn't ready as a whole, but there were enough trained fighters that he could commit them and leave the rest to 'defend' their supplies, though that did risk ill feeling. There was nothing stopping him from fighting himself, however. Either way, the question was how.

The debate continued, words going back and forth across the tent, the high lords listening to the counsel offered. Ideas were suggested, pruned, and debunked, as balance between victory and risk to the army and the city was sought.

"I can open the gates." There was a pause, as all looked for the man who had made so brazen an announcement. When they saw Lord America, however, many bit their tongues. It was perhaps not so brazen, coming from him.

"How do you plan to do that?" Rickard asked, breaking the silence.

"I'll infiltrate the city tonight," Steve said, as the idea became concrete in his mind.

"Sneak through to the gatehouse, and open it when the signal is given tomorrow."

"The walls are teeming with men," Kyle Royce said, turning from his place at his father's side to look at him.

"You'd never get over them without being seen." Steve remembered him from the bachelor party at Riverrun, and he nodded.

"I won't go over the wall. I'll infiltrate by sea." Even with the spreading tales of his exploits, there was some doubt, and much quiet muttering.

"That is still quite a challenge," Jon Arryn said diplomatically.

"And with the city on high alert, it will be difficult to get a force across it, no matter how small."

"No force," Steve said.

"I'll go alone." The muttering was less quiet now.

"How do you plan to take the gatehouse alone?" a lord demanded.

"The garrison is twenty strong by habit. I'll eat my boot if it hasn't been doubled, to say nothing of the men on the walls above it."

"If I can get into the gatehouse, that won't be enough," Steve said.

"That is…difficult to believe," the lord managed to say politely.

"I've witnessed Lord America fight before, at Harrenhal," someone said. It was Markus of Strongsong, blue eyes considering.

"He defeated me with ease, and then unhorsed five more." That persuaded some, but not all.

"I rode away from Lord Steve once, leaving him to fight one and twenty knights on a bridge," Stannis said. It was the first time he had spoken.

"The next time I saw him, he rode the horse of the Kingsguard who led them." They were beginning to come round, looking at the foreign warrior who had slain the Smiling Knight and defeated Barristan the Bold and Bronze Yohn, and began to consider some of the other outlandish tales they had heard of him.

"If I fail, the walls can still be taken conventionally," Steve said.

"You lose nothing with the attempt."

"A knight of your calibre is not to be discarded easily," Jon said, though he wasn't disagreeing. He glanced to Rickard, and received a slight nod.

"Very well. At the hornblast tomorrow, after we have given Lord Grafton his last chance, you will open the way."

"We could focus our forces as if to storm the walls elsewhere," Stannis said, looking down at the table as if picturing the city layout.

"Force Grafton to reposition his men in response." Slow nods were his answer.

"We need only so many men at the gates as can enter quickly, should Lord America succeed," Jon said.

"It is decided. My lords, we thank you for your counsel." The meeting began to break up, and Steve gave Markus and Stannis a nod of thanks for their support. Now he only had to break the news of the plan to the company. And to Naerys. X"I see," Naerys said, considering.

"That will make it easier on the men."

"You're not concerned?" Steve asked. It had been almost two months since they had made their choice to be together, and longer still since Naerys had made her desire for him known, but it still felt so fresh.

"Should I be?" Naerys asked.

"I know better than most what you are capable of." They sat in the central room of their tent, still getting their money's worth from the purchase made in King's Landing so many months ago. Keladry had retired to her room after putting an exhausted Toby to bed, while Lyanna and Robin had scampered off somewhere to be alone. The sun had set, and a sole candle sat on the table between them, casting the room in shadow.

"Even if I don't succeed tomorrow, I'll survive," Steve said.

"It's not that I don't worry for you," Naerys said, as she played with a lock of her hair. It was growing long, almost to the small of her back.

"I just know that you'll come back." Steve wet his lips.

"It helps. Knowing that someone is waiting for me," he said. It hadn't always been enough, in the past, despite how hard he had tried. Naerys lay her hand on the table, reaching for him, and Steve took it in his own.

"I don't know how long this war will last," she said, "and I know I can't follow you into battle, but I'll follow as far as I can." Steve squeezed her hand. He was beginning to better realise why Tony had made a suit for Pepper. It wasn't just for her protection.

"Shall we go to bed?" Naerys asked. For a moment, Steve's thoughts stuttered, as his mind went down a path he was pretty sure was different to the one she intended. It must have shown on his face, because Naerys smirked.

"You'll need some sleep, if you're going to sneak into the city before the morning," she said, cherubic.

"I'll watch over you as you sleep, and wake you when it's time."

"Right," Steve said.

"Right." They went their separate ways to change into their sleepwear, and then Naerys joined Steve in his room of the tent. His bedroll was already laid out, a chest of possessions against the wall beside the pillow, and Steve was rolling up his dirty laundry to the side, clad only in pants. She was cool, even in her winter shift, and she was quick to steal a place in his bedroll, not laying down, but sitting with her back against the chest.

"Here," Naerys said, indicating her lap, and Steve joined her slowly, laying his head down on her and closing his eyes. She was glad for her slippers, but Steve was warm, and she scratched lightly at his scalp. In no time at all, he had fallen asleep, leaving her alone with her thoughts as she watched him. She pondered heavy thoughts, though she was distracted as she heard Robin and Lyanna return, the quietness of the night allowing her to hear their goodnight kiss before they went to their own rooms.

Hours passed, and she grew drowsy. Eventually, the time came, and she gently woke him, leaning down to lay a soft kiss on his brow.

"It's time," she said quietly. Steve reached up as she made to pull back, pulling her down into another kiss, this one less soft. She felt herself drawn in, and had to remind herself that now wasn't the time. Reluctantly, she pulled back. Steve rose and began to gather his clothing. For a moment, he hesitated, glancing at her, only to see her eyes on him, tracing his bare chest. He began to undress, and she watched, unabashed, as he changed into plain clothes.

Her gaze was hungry, and she pouted as he dressed once more.

"I'll see you afterwards," he said.

"Mmm," Naerys said, dragging her eyes back up to his face.

"I mean, yes." Her face was pink. Steve smirked, far too smug for a face as fair as his, and went on his way. Naerys watched him leave, and when the canvas door fell closed behind him she rolled into his bedroll to get some sleep of her own, curling up in the warmth he had left behind. She would see him again, she knew.