The Reach was a pleasant land, the landscape shifting gradually as they rode, leaving behind the forests and rains of the Stormlands to find a country of rolling fields and rivers. If not for the circumstances of their coming, Steve thought it might be a nice place to visit.

At the edge of a frolicsome woodland, hidden amongst the trees, Steve surveyed the target before him. Atop a nearby hill, there was a holdfast, a motte and bailey. The walls of the keep on the hill were of stone, as was the small keep, but there was only a palisade wall around the bailey on the lower ground, protecting perhaps a dozen buildings. It was the first fortification they had encountered since entering the Reach three days ago, though they had bypassed several villages that seemed unaware of the greater threats growing around them. This holdfast though, it was on guard, two men at the gates of the bailey and another on watch atop the keep itself, silhouette just visible in the mid afternoon sun. In the fields around it, smallfolk went about their chores, unaware of what awaited them.

“Not the hardest nut to crack,” Walt murmured to his right. He had his forearm braced against a tree, holding his weight as he leaned.

“If there’s more than ten men-at-arms and the knightly lord there I’ll be shocked,” Henry said, on Walt’s other side. Short cropped brown hair was hidden by an armet helm, and his slightly round face was optimistic as he beheld the target.

“Still enough to hold the keep long enough to be a nuisance,” Erik, a lean man who had fought under Walt in the Stepstones said. At Steve’s left, he scratched at his growing ginger stubble.

“Do we need the keep?” Humfrey asked beside him. The scar over his left eye had well and truly healed now, but still it tugged his eye into a slight squint.

“If the granaries are in it, we will,” Osric said. He had been blond and gangly when they had first met, but now he had the muscles to match his frame. He was halfway up the tree that Steve was leaning against.

“Some of their stock will be,” Walt said. “If that caravan we saw earlier wasn’t a one off, they won’t have the room otherwise.”

The caravan had been five wagons, tops covered by canvas, but with some kind of wheat or gain peeking out the edges. Three knights and fifteen men had guarded it, and each wagon had a driver.

“Hopefully it wasn’t,” Steve said.

“More to burn,” Erik said, crooked grin revealing a missing tooth.

“It would mean this is the last point for resupply for Reach forces marching into the Stormlands, too,” Steve added. “Given the distance to Storm’s End…” He did some quick maths. “It makes sense.”

“Raze it to the ground then?” Walt asked.

Steve looked away from a pair of children helping their mother in the field outside the bailey wall, glancing at Walt. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Be easier,” Walt said. He didn’t sound like he cared.

“Maybe,” Steve said. “But the people living here don’t deserve it, and we can achieve our objective without it. Henry, what is our goal here?”

“Destruction of supplies that will aid the Reach army in their advance, ser,” Henry said promptly. Every man in the company was well aware of Steve’s intent in the region, courtesy of the talks he would have with them over the days of travel.

“Osric, what does that include?” Steve asked.

Osric started, before he answered, still unused to being part of such things. “Uh, granaries, root cellars, livestock.”

“What about looting?” Steve asked. “Humfrey.”

“Forbidden unless it’s war material,” the bald man said. “Stolen personal items will result in three time’s the worth of the item docked from ya pay and given to the victim,” he recited.

“And why’s that? Erik.”

“Cause it’ll weigh us down and get us killed,” Erik said. “And it’s dishonourable,” he tacked on.

“Good,” Steve said, approving. The men had turned in to face him over the course of the questioning, and they straightened at his words. “I want you to remind your squads before we head on in.”

Nods and ayes were his answer.

“How we gonna do this then?” Walt asked. “They’ve got a good vantage, and they’ll see us coming down the road as soon as we round these woods.”

“With speed,” Steve decided. “I’ll lead the charge. We’ll secure our objectives, see to any injuries, and be on our way.”

“Hard and fast,” Henry said, nodding.

“Just like me visit to tha brothel,” Erik said.

The others snorted, and Steve raised his eyes heavenwards. “Any questions?” he asked.

“What about surrenders?” Osric asked. He swallowed as eyes turned to him.

“Accept them if they’re given, heck, ask for them if you like,” Steve said. “It’s the supplies we’re after, not the few men guarding their homes here. Just be careful.”

Osric nodded, more at ease now.

“Anything else?”

“No Captain,” came the answers.

“Head back and ready your squads,” Steve ordered. “Remember your checklists.”

Some nodded, some bowed, Humfrey touched his knuckle to his brow, but all turned to make their way back through the trees to where the rest of the company was waiting. Maybe he needed to introduce a proper salute.

“Walt,” Steve said, and the grizzled man slowed to join him at the back of the group, looking at him in question. “‘Raze it to the ground’?” he questioned quietly.

Walt shrugged. “I know you don’t like it, and so do they, but now they’ve got it fresh in their minds. Yeh gotta be clear about that shit.”

“So long as we’re on the same page,” Steve said.

“Stepstones were different,” Walt said, rubbing at his chin. His helm he had left on his horse. “Only ones caught in the middle there was the pirates. Can’t say I mind you wanting to leave the smallfolk alone.”

The trek through the forest felt faster on the way back, and soon they reached the company, waiting for them in the shade of the trees. The horses were grazing, and they had a calmness to them that the men lacked, keyed up and eager as they were, though in Redbloom’s case that was probably down to the absence of Bill the mule. Quiet conversations stopped and all eyes turned to Steve and the squad leaders that had scouted with him as they emerged from the forest. He let them go to their men, sharing what they had spoken of. He met Keladry’s eyes as she fed her horse Malorie an apple, and returned her nod.

When he judged that word had been spread, he whistled for Fury, and the white destrier trotted over to him, allowing him to spring up into the saddle. The warhorse bore the weight of him and his armour without complaint, and he looked to his men. They were all watching him, waiting.

“You know what the target is,” Steve told them. “Henry, you and your squad will follow me through the gate and to the motte. Walt, Erik, you and yours will work with Keladry’s squad to secure the bailey once we’re in. Humfrey, Osric, you are to seek out the food stores in the bailey. Take what we need to replenish our supplies, destroy the rest.” He turned his gaze on Naerys and those with her. “Yorick,” he said to the final squad leader, “you and your men will protect the noncombatants. If an enemy force arrives, you’ll join us in the holdfast, but otherwise remain outside.”

The knight’s mouth turned down in a slight grimace, but he bowed his head nonetheless.

“This will be a rotating duty, dependent on the engagement,” Steve said. He let out a breath. He had trained them as best he could in the time he had, and forged them into one force the best he knew how. “This is not a mighty fortress, or a large army. You are better trained than them, and better armed.” He swept his gaze across the crowd. “This is not an excuse to get yourself killed. You treat the enemy with respect, you protect the soldier next to you, and we all ride out in one piece. Remember my expectations. Remember my demands. Understood?”

“Aye Captain!”

“Good. Mount up. It’s time to go to work.”

X

The thunder of hoofbeats filled the air as Steve led the company down the road, dust rising in their wake. Robin was at his right with his bow, and Ren at his left with his banner. They kept to an easy trot as they rounded the edge of the forest and the holdfast came into view, wind in their faces and the sun shining down on them.

A bell began to ring frantically from the keep, tolling out over the fields, and Steve saw the moment where the smallfolk realised what was coming. Panic spread as they dropped their tools, fleeing for the transient safety of the village walls. One side of the gates was closed, the other held open for those fleeing, but it would be tight.

Steve raised his horn to his lips, the prize from Harrenhal, and blew. The dirge rang out over the once tranquil fields, and he touched his heels to Fury’s flanks. The trot became a canter, and he checked the straps on his shield one last time. The smith had done a decent job in attaching a steel plate to round out the shattered weapon, but it was a stark contrast to the red white and blue of it, and it was an ugly thing.

Ahead, a small form tumbled from the cover of half grown wheat, stumbling as they fled along the road towards the walls. A guard at the gate was shouting, exhorting him onwards, but there was no chance that the child could outrun the horses. Blind panic seemed to be his only guide as he ran down the road, no thought of hiding or running to the side occurring to him. Steve leaned forward in his saddle, and Fury responded to his intent, breaking into a gallop. The guard at the gate stopped shouting, but only because he had been forced to wrestle back a woman trying to get out and past him. The other half of the gate began to close. They were nearly there.

As the first ranks reached the running child, Steve leaned down and seized him by the back of his shirt, plucking him off the ground and depositing him in the saddle before him. The boy screamed in fright and struggled, but a hand on his shoulder stilled him. There was no time to reassure him, and then they were at the gate.

Fury sent a guard flying as he bulled through the narrow opening, screaming a whinny. Robin was right behind him, twisting in the saddle to shoot a man on the wall before he could loose his own arrow at Steve, while Ren beat another with her flagpole. The gates, almost closed, were being pushed open by Henry’s men, allowing more troops to stream into the bailey. Further into the village, Steve met the eyes of a man in plate, sword in hand. His expression was torn between despair and determination, and he was shouting at the smallfolk and guards around him, waving them back towards the keep. They were streaming up the raised stairs that led up the motte, and Steve made to pursue them when movement to the side caught his eye.

A woman was cowering by the walls, trying not to be seen by any of the soldiers entering her home, and she froze as she met Steve’s eyes, but then she saw the boy he had with him, and an altogether different expression took over. Terrified fury filled her, and she looked ready to charge him.

“Ser, the motte?” Henry shouted over the growing clamour.

“A moment!” Steve said, nudging Fury towards the woman. He took the child up by the back of his shirt again, holding him out to her like a particularly wriggly sack of potatoes.

The woman snatched him in both arms, pale with fear and shrinking away, holding the boy protectively.

“Ortys!” Steve called. The big man, one of Keladry’s squad, looked over to him. “Protect this woman! If more have been caught out, gather them by the well!”

“Aye Captain!” Ortys answered.

“On me!” Steve ordered, and Fury surged through the village, past the well in the centre and towards the stairs that led up to the keep. Those tasked to it followed him, while the others secured the bailey and sought out the food stores. Keladry was barking orders, only half paying attention to the man she was beating to the ground with the butt of her glaive.

They dismounted, the horses unable to go further, and Steve shattered the door that blocked the way up with a kick. An arrow whizzed down at him from the keep, and he deflected it with the back of his gauntlet.

“Robin, I want you on the roof there! If anyone pokes their head up, give them a haircut!”

Robin jumped from Scruffy to the thatched roof of the building, using the slope as cover. He fired an arrow almost immediately, and there was a clang as it deflected off a helm.

Steve charged up the stairs, Ren at his back and Henry following behind her. At the top, the last of the path was being raised, a drawbridge, and Steve leapt to catch its edge by his fingers. The extra weight made it lurch to a stop, and he shrugged his shoulders and pulled, bouncing his weight on it. Something broke, and the bridge fell back down with a loud whumph. The way was not yet open, a solid oak door in the stone wall blocking the way, and he stepped forward to deal with it.

Atop the wall, a man popped up, stabbing down with his spear. A man next to held a shield over him, blocking the arrow that came for him. Steve dodged the first stab, and on the second he grabbed the spear and pulled, the man utterly unprepared for it. He came tumbling over the wall and Steve caught him, headbutting him gently. The guard went limp, and Steve passed him back with one hand.

“Put him by the well,” he ordered, and he was passed through the crowded ranks down the stairs. Beyond the wall, he could hear someone screaming for boiling water. They couldn’t linger. “Give me space!”

He took his hammer from its harness on his back, and reversed the head so he was wielding it spike first. Then he reared back, and swung it into the door as hard as he could. The door shuddered with the force of the blow, and the spike sank deep. He worked at it, using it as a claw to gouge out the hardened wood, and when he got it out, he did it again, and again. The thunder of the blows echoed off the walls, each strike weakening the barrier.

Cries began to go up with each hammerblow, a wordless thing of fervour and eagerness for battle. On the other side of the wall there was silence, and Steve struck harder, intent on getting his men out of the narrow stairway before they could take advantage of them.

Finally, he broke through, a hole punched into the oaken door. The spike pried it open further, the wooden planks of the door giving up, and he peered through. There was no movement to be seen, and he punched through the hole, grasping blindly for the bar that held it shut. He found it, dragging it out of place and getting his arm out before someone could do something unpleasant to it. The door was kicked open, and he led the way as they rushed through with a shout, but there were no foes to be found, no fight to be had.

“They’ve fallen back into the keep,” Steve said, as his men flowed into the interior of the keep walls. There was another oak door in the stone of the square keep, this one banded with iron, but there was no sign of guards, no one glaring down from the crenellations and no archers at the windows.

“Do we need to dig them out?” Henry asked. He put his visor up, trying to wipe sweat from his brow without much luck.

“We do,” Steve said. “They could have deep cellars.”

“That’s a strong door,” Arnulf, a young man-at-arms of Henry’s squad, said. “Pity we don’t have a ram.”

“Don’t we?” Ren asked. The flagpole rested against her shoulder, and she wasn’t so skinny anymore, and under her helm her brown hair had been shaved almost to her scalp. “It got us through that door easy enough.”

“Ser, or his hammer?” someone joked, and laughter answered.

Steve smiled, but his eyes were still on the keep. “Two men go around the keep each way, check for other doors or surprises. When you get back, we’ll crack it.”

Henry picked the four, and the rest of them waited, a dozen men and one secret woman watching the door and the windows. They came back a bare minutes later, reporting a single entrance and no easy access point. It was a squat keep, without beauty, but they were built like that for a reason. They gathered around the door. It was two men wide, and had a barred window high above, but there was no movement to be seen behind the murky glass.

Hammer in hand, Steve stepped up. This barrier would be tougher to crack, but nor was he in such a vulnerable position. He drew it back - and paused, a thought occurring. Instead of with his hammer, he knocked with his fist, three quick raps.

There was a long pause.

“...what do you want, you bastard?”

“I want the supplies you’re holding, your boots, and your horses,” Steve said.

“The fuck you want my boots for?” the man demanded, indignant.

“Well, I don’t want you chasing after me once I leave, do I?”

Another pause.

“You’re not getting my boots.”

“Fair,” Steve said. “I’ll settle for the war materials you’re holding for the Reach army.”

“You’ve got them already, so fuck off!” the man said.

“I’m sure there’s no cellars in your keep, either,” Steve said. Lack of an answer was answer enough. “Let me be clear. I’m not here to hurt you or your people. Once I’ve got what I need, I’ll be on my way.”

A harsh laugh came through the door. “No harm, after you storm my bailey and kill my people?”

“I don’t think anyone has died yet,” Steve said. “You can look and see from the roof of your keep yourself.”

“And get my ear shot off too? Not likely.”

Steve sighed. “Robin! Hold your fire!” he shouted. “I promise the man who looks won’t have his ear shot off,” he said to the door.

Vague murmurings and angry words were exchanged behind the door, too faint to make out properly. A short time later, a head rose cautiously above the battlements, peering out for a moment before disappearing quickly. Not long after, there was another conversation beyond the door.

“...no fires, and…under guard by the well…”

“So you haven’t started raping and burning yet, but what’s to stop you once you get what you want?”

“My word,” Steve said. “I am Steve Rogers, Lord America, and I promise you that no harm will come to you and yours if you surrender your keep.”

“Words are wind,” the man shot back, though he was wavering.

“I knocked with my hand because I could,” Steve said. “I could knock with my hammer just as easily.”

“...send your men back down to the bailey, and I’ll speak with you face to face.”

“Back down you go,” Steve told his troops. “Let Keladry know how things are going.”

“Ser-!” Ren began to protest.

“And start drawing water from the well,” he continued. “Refill our supplies, and have some on hand for when we burn the wheat and grain in case of any accidents. We don’t want the fire to spread.”

Unhappily, they began to do as ordered, leaving Steve by the keep door alone. He stowed his hammer back in its harness. “Done,” he called through the door.

There was a shout of confirmation within, and the sound of a shifting bolt. Slowly, the door began to creak open. A man peered through the gap, as if checking Steve was alone. He took a breath, and stepped through. The door was closed behind him. It was the knight he had seen earlier, his gaze deeply suspicious, though he had found a helm since retreating to his keep. There was a broad scar across his nose.

“Never heard of House America,” he said, grip tight on his sheathed sword.

“I’m not from around here,” Steve said. “Arrived a bit over half a year ago. Won the melee at Harrenhal.”

“Word travels slow in these parts,” he said. “I’m Ser Haighsley.”

“Ser Rogers,” Steve said. He offered his arm.

Haighsley frowned, but took the arm slowly, and let go quickly. “What do you want?”

“Your surrender,” Steve said. “In return, you and your people will not be harmed, and I will only destroy or seize the war materials present.”

“Why would you offer me that?” he demanded.

“I gain nothing from cruelty,” Steve said, “and much from generosity. I’m here to fight a war, not spread suffering to those who never wronged me.” He did his best to show his earnestness, looking Haighsley in the eyes.

The knight ground his teeth. “I want to speak to my people you captured. With safe passage.”

“Done,” Steve said.

Haighsley turned to the door of the keep. “Don’t open this door to anyone who isn’t me,” he ordered. There was a muffled reply, and he turned back. “After you, ser.”

Steve led the way through the broken door and down the stairs, unphased by showing the man his back. His armour was strong, and frankly he’d hear if he tried anything. In the bailey, his men had been hard at work. There was no fighting, and very little blood to be seen. The crowd of prisoners around the well had grown, the twins Artys and Ortys watching over them. Twenty or so men and women sat in the dirt, and a purpling eye was the only injury amongst them, aside from the guards that had been overcome. Incongruously, an old woman was with them, but she sat in a rocking chair, not in the dirt, and was covered in shawls, chatting away at Willem, the redheaded slinger. He bore an expression of long suffering, but listened patiently.

Others were hard at work searching the village, and those he had sent away wore expressions of faint relief as he joined them in the bailey. Haighsley stomped over to his people, aiming for the injured guards amongst them.

“How is it going, Keladry?” Steve called.

“We’ve located the granaries and a smokehouse,” Keladry reported. “As well as five horses.”

“We’ll burn what the granaries hold, but take what you can from the smokehouse. We can make more pemmican at camp tonight, or use it as it is,” Steve said.

Keladry nodded. “Is that the lord of the keep?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “He’s just about to surrender.”

Haighsley had spoken with his guards, and was kneeling by the old woman now. There was a disgruntled look on his face, but a tension had gone out of him. He rose, and made for the two of them. Slowly, he drew his sword, and the men around reacted poorly, but Steve raised his hand to them, and they settled.

“In return for the guarantee of safety for my people,” he said, holding his sword out hilt first to Steve, “you have my surrender. My keep is yours.”

Steve took the sword and inspected it. It was a good sword, simple and workmanlike. “Walt,” he called. “Send word to Yorick’s squad. They’re to bring the noncombatants inside, and Corivo is to see to any injuries, ours or theirs.”

Haighsley’s jaw ticked, but he nodded in thanks.

“You’ll open your keep, and your men-at-arms will join their fellows down here. My men will search it through,” Steve said to him. “It would be best if you guided them to any war materials.”

“We will do so,” Haighsley said, defeat seeping into his voice, but also relief.

He handed the sword back, hilt first. “Your word is enough for me,” he explained.

Haighsley sheathed his sword, and doffed his helm, resting it at his hip. His pate was balding, and Steve realised he must be in his late thirties. “By your leave then, ser.”

“Henry,” Steve said, gesturing to the lord. “You and your men will lead the search. You know my rules.”

“Aye Captain,” Henry said, and he followed the defeated man back up to his keep, his men following.

Ren took up position at Steve’s shoulder, and Robin hopped down from his perch to stand at the other. Steve watched as Yorick led Naerys and the others through the gates, and he smiled as they met each other’s eyes. With the hard part over, now came the fiddly part.

X

Haighsley’s office had a window, a desk, and a chair on either side of it. One wall was covered in books and scrolls, but it was the parchment on the desk that had drawn Naerys’ attention, and she was sifting through it now, seated in the lord’s chair. Dodger was sniffing around the desk, but looked up with gimlet eyes as the door opened, crooked tail going still. When he saw who it was however, he let out a happy bark.

“Good boy,” Steve said, scratching him behind the ears as he took the empty seat before the desk. “Any luck?” he asked Naerys.

“Some,” Naerys said, not looking up, “but I still haven’t found the detailed outline for the Tyrell plan of attack.”

Steve snorted. “Try looking for the big red letters that say ‘Top Secret’.”

She flashed him a smile as she glanced away from the letter she was reading. In her cuirass and dark leathers, blonde hair braided tightly at her neck, she cut a striking figure even seated at the desk.

Steve strangled the errant thought that the desk could be put to better use. “What have you found?”

“Instructions on the delivery schedule,” she said, handing over a letter. “Nothing on when it might end, or when the army will pass through to take possession of it.”

“This is very precise,” Steve said, glancing over dates and times. It was honestly more exact than he had expected from a society without instant long distance communication. As Naerys had said though, any information that Haighsley didn’t need to do his job had been left out. That didn’t mean things couldn’t be inferred from what was there. “How much space had Haighsley put aside to hold it all?”

Naerys flicked through a pile she had already inspected, pulling out a particular parchment. “He received an answer to that question…but it only said to store it as required, and to build more structures as necessary.”

Steve frowned in thought. It seemed that someone on the Reach side had an inkling of OPSEC. “Not enough here to divine more then.”

“Not so far,” Naerys said, sorting through what remained.

“What about that pile?” Steve asked, nodding to a bundle tied with string to the side.

“Love letters,” Naerys said. “Some more passionate than others.” A hint of colour appeared in her cheeks.

“Definitely just that?” Steve asked.

“I read enough to be sure,” Naerys said, colour refusing to leave.

“Just to be sure,” Steve said.

She gave him a little glare, but couldn’t hold it in the face of his small smirk. “The supply caravans seem to be coming from a neighbour to the west, probably along the Blueburn,” she said, moving on. “If I could look over their letters as well, I might be able to tell how much they expect to consume between depots.”

“Good idea,” Steve said. It would depend on how the quartermaster ran the supply situation and how much of a reserve they maintained, but the more they learned, the more they could discern.

Dodger perked up at something, single ear flap raised, and a moment later Steve heard footsteps. The door opened, but it was only Lyanna, smelling faintly of smoke, and the dog relaxed, looking up at Steve as if checking he had done well. He was rewarded by more scratches, and his tail thumped at the floor.

“Got it,” Lyanna announced, a sheaf of parchment in her hand. She also had a quill and inkbottle that looked to have been borrowed from the desk, and her fingers were stained with ink. “Charcoal stick is much better than this,” she grumbled, putting them back and handing the parchment over.

Naerys looked over the information Lyanna had brought, nibbling at her thumb.

“Burning went well?” Steve asked the girl.

“Seized what we could, destroyed what was stockpiled for the army,” Lyanna reported. “The fire got into a roof next door, but it was handled.”

“Good,” Steve said. “Anything else?” he asked, seeing her hesitate.

“Keladry ordered we leave some untouched, and that the livestock be left alone,” Lyanna said. “They only have their chickens and an old cow for milk, so nothing that could feed an army, and-”

“Good,” Steve said. “We’re here to starve the army, not the people.”

“Right,” Lyanna said, easing some. “I figured, but. Yeah.”

“This could have fed Sharp Point for years of winter,” Naerys muttered as she read over the list Lyanna had brought.

“Armies are hungry,” Steve said, shrugging.

“And this only one depot, with more to come at that,” she said. “Though it is the last before they enter the Stormlands…”

“We’ll have to see what the next holds,” Steve said.

“I’ll take these,” Naerys decided. “We can compare it against the next holdfast we take.”

“Better to make copies,” Lyanna said. Steve and Naerys looked at her, and the weight of their stares made her look up from where she was petting Dodger. She flushed. “So they don’t know what you were looking at,” she hurried to explain.

Naerys considered it for a moment, already nodding. “You’re right.” She took a blank parchment and began scribbling down figures.

“It won’t be quick for Haighsley to send word about what happened here,” Steve said, “but you’re right. Any advantage.”

Lyanna couldn’t help but smile, and moved to help Naerys.

“Oh, and grab whatever parchment is left over,” Steve added as he got to his feet. “It’ll be useful for reports.”

The ladies nodded, most of their attention on the task before them, and Steve left them to it. There was more work to be done.

X

Before the afternoon was done, the small holdfast had been stripped of anything that might help an army on its march to the Stormlands. Granaries were burnt, the smokehouse was looted, root cellars were emptied, horses were seized. The treatment was shockingly gentle, contrary to what the residents had expected when they first saw the cavalry bearing down upon them. No one had even died, not even the guard shot through the neck by the lord’s squire, the injury seen to by the strange Essosi with them. No pillaging, no abuses, nothing worse than a black eye outside the guards - it was with a strange mood that the villagers of Ser Haighsley’s holdfast watched their attackers leave, riding out into the sunset. For all they had work ahead of them to repair the damage done, it was the work of slight misfortune, not utter tragedy. The knight himself watched them go from his shattered gates, bemusement writ clear on his face.

“A good showing,” Keladry said to Steve as they trotted away from the holdfast.

“A good start,” Steve agreed. The sun was beginning to turn red as it started to set in truth. “Not a real fight, but still.”

“Better that than an enemy camp,” Keladry said. Ren and Robin were riding behind them, second in the column that snaked out in their wake.

“Confidence building is one thing, as long as they don’t grow overconfident,” Steve said. “We can’t have them thinking every fight will be that easy.”

“No,” Keladry said. She was quiet for a moment, turning something over in her mind. “It is a long way from a group of bandits in the night.”

“A lot has happened since then,” Steve said, thinking back to the ambush the night they had first met.

Keladry gave him a look from under her raised visor that suggested he was perhaps understating things.

“I’m glad we stopped there for supplies,” he said. “Brindlewood, I mean.”

“I am also pleased,” Keladry said, a rare smile crossing her face.

“Who’s understating now?” Steve joked.

Keladry’s hand twitched up, as if to lower her visor, but she restrained herself. “What is our plan for the caravan?” she asked instead. “We could catch them tonight if we wished.”

“It would be a late camp, but they’re within striking distance,” Steve said.

“The men are quick to set camp,” Keladry offered.

Steve considered it for a moment. Morale was high, and a longer day with a dark end wouldn’t be received poorly, especially if they captured the caravan they had sighted earlier beforehand. “Let’s do it,” he decided, turning to speak over his shoulder. “Robin, spread the word to the squad leaders. We’re going to catch those wagons.”

Robin nudged his horse out of the column, slowing until a squad leader passed him. He passed the word, and the column increased its speed. The hunt was on.

X

Three wagons could never outpace a mounted force, especially when they did not even know of their pursuit. Safe in their own lands, on a route they had been doing for weeks, they did not think to hide their camp or post a sentry while they set their tents. Seeing an armoured giant loom out of the fading light of dusk and suddenly finding themselves surrounded was not the way they had thought their day would end. A moment of resistance from a knight was dealt with swiftly by Walt, and one of the wagon drivers who thought to make a break for it past a blond boy and his horses found his own mount unwilling to challenge the black beast he rode.

The fifteen guards were disarmed and tied together, Ed tying some fiendishly difficult bindings that would just about require a knife to undo, and a quick march saw the camp relocated to a more suitable location at the edge of a copse of trees. The sun was disappearing over the horizon as they began to set their camp in truth, everyone going about their assigned tasks, erecting tents, digging fire holes, preparing food. The members of the caravan were bemused as they were given roots and tubers to wash, the very same that they had delivered to Haighsley. Some of the men even engaged them in conversation.

Not all were taking their change in fortunes with such equanimity. The three knights watched Steve sullenly, stripped of their plate and maille, swords confiscated and horses spoiled by Toby. They sat in the dirt before him as he considered them, himself sitting on a stump. The sigils they bore meant nothing to him, but Keladry thought one of them might be of a middling House in the north of the Reach.

“I’ve got a few questions,” Steve said to them.

“We’ll not answer,” the leader of the three said, the one Walt had dumped in the dirt.

“That’s your decision,” Steve said. “If you’re sure that’s the choice you want to make.” He frowned slightly. He wanted to interrogate the knights, but he also had chores to do. No reason he couldn't take care of both.

The leader swallowed, but lifted his chin in challenge. “Do your worst.” His moustache was dishevelled, lessening the effect. The other two went slightly wide eyed. They were barely out of their teens.

“Settle down,” Steve said. “I’m not going to torture you.” He turned to a nearby soldier. “Mat, may I borrow your shovel?”

Mat, a Riverlander who had found Steve’s offer more interesting than his work with the quartermaster, was quick to retrieve it from where it was tied to his marching pack. He returned to setting up his tent after receiving a nod of thanks.

“Let’s take a walk,” Steve said to the prisoners. He rose from his stump and made for the edge of the camp.

Behind him, the knights exchanged startled looks, not moving from their seats in the dirt.

Steve turned back, not quite irritated. “Well? I don’t have all day.”

Slowly at first, then scrambling to catch up, the three prisoners followed after their captor. Few they passed gave them a second look, appearing completely unconcerned over the three of them going unguarded at their commander’s back. He wasn’t even armoured.

They reached the edge of the camp, and then went a stone’s throw further beyond. They were in clear sight of the camp, but the short distance insulated them from it and its noise. It felt like it was just them. Just them, and the lord leading the raiding force against their lands. Vulnerable.

A glance was exchanged, the same look in every eye. For a moment, foolhardy as it was, they considered it.

The moment ended when the commander spun the two foot long shovel and sank it into the earth, a

shnk

sound filling the air. In his hands, what should have been a gardener’s tool looked more lethal than it had any right to, and they reconsidered.

“I would tell you my name, but this isn’t that kind of talk,” Steve said, his back to the prisoners. He had watched from the corner of his eye until they made the smart choice, and knew they wouldn’t go back on it. He continued to dig, breaking a trench into the ground, and then starting to deepen it.

Shnk

went the shovel. The hole was wide enough to fit a man, if not deep enough. Yet.

The knights were silent, watching him dig. One shifted, uncomfortable.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you can choose to answer them, or,”

shnk

, “you can choose not to.”

The moon began to rise over the nearby woods, casting a pale light over the scene.

Shnk.

The knights were still silent.

“How much food did you deliver to Ser Haighsley?” Steve asked.

The knights blinked as one.

Shnk

.

“Five wagons full,” one of the younger knights blurted. He had a nose large enough to be a target, and sandy blond hair.

Steve paused in his digging, turning to level a raised brow on the one to answer. Slowly, he looked between the man and the five wagons parked by the camp edge. His companions likewise gave him sideyed looks.

“Just under five tonnes,” the kid amended.

“What were you carrying?” Steve asked, directing it to the other young knight this time as he turned to resume digging.

Shnk

.

“Barley, hay, some roots and tubers,” the knight answered, confused. He had dark eyes, and had yet to fully escape the tyranny of pimples. They had heard talk that Ser Haighsley’s holdfast had been taken, so surely this was already known.

Shnk

. “Right,” Steve said. “And you’ve been making the trip for how long?”

“Two weeks,” the lead knight said, trying to drag the attention off his peers.

Steve did a quick calculation in his head. “So you took over for the first group to run this route.”

“...yes,” the moustached knight said, grudging. “Another two weeks and we’ll be relieved too.”

“How far to the next holdfast?” Steve asked.

Shnk

.

There was a pause, but only a short one. “Three days,” the leader answered.

Shnk

.

“What’s the road like? Give your wagons much trouble?” Steve asked, conversational.

Shnk

. “The road is fine,” the leader said.

Shnk

. “Hilly.”

The pit Steve was digging was thigh deep now, and only growing deeper as he worked tirelessly, piling dirt up on the side. “No old bridges to worry about?”

Shnk

.

“No rivers until the Blueburn, and we don’t go that far,” the kid with the large nose said. Most of his attention was on the growing pit, and he swallowed.

“Just to the next holdfast and back,” Steve said. “What’s it like? The castle.”

There was a longer pause now, and Steve kept digging.

Shnk

.

Shnk

.

“Well?” Steve prodded.

“Too strong for you to siege,” the moustached knight said.

“Dozens of guards, and tall walls,” the pimply one said.

Shnk

. Steve nodded to himself. “Are you local boys then? Got friends there?”

The leader shifted where he stood. “No, I am of House St-” he cut himself off.

Shnk

.

“We spend more time on the road,” the big nosed one said quickly, as if wanting to fill the silence.

Shnk

.

“They know us well though. The gate captain owes me three silver,” the leader said, moustache twitching as he lied.

Shnk

. “Right,” Steve said.

Shnk

. “How about the muster then?”

“The muster?” the moustached knight said, playing for time.

Shnk

.

Shnk

.

Shnk

.

“Yeah, the muster. What’s the word on it? You hoping to join up with it soon?” Steve asked. The pit was almost to his chest now, long enough for him to almost stretch his arms out one way, and as wide as his shoulders the other.

Shnk

.

Shnk

.

The silence stretched out.

“We don’t know,” the pimply one said. “We just guard the wagons.”

“Come on,” Steve said.

Shnk

.

Shnk

.

Shnk

. “Weeks on the road, and you’re not counting the days until you can do some real work?”

The knights didn’t answer. Their faces were pale in the light of the moon, and growing paler as they stared at their captor and the pit he had dug.

“This is the choice you want to make?” Steve asked.

Shnk

.

“You’ll have no secrets from us,” the leader said, some of his fire returning. They had been put off balance by the questions at the start, but he would be beguiled no longer. “Threaten us with an unmarked grave all you like, but we’ll not betray our oaths.”

At either side, his companions nodded jerkily. One was shivering madly.

Steve stopped digging. He looked from the pit he had dug, now shoulder deep, and then up at the three knights standing next to it, looking like men approaching the gallows. He sighed. With a bend and a flex, he leapt up out of the pit in one movement, landing lightly before them, shovel in hand.

The knights stared back at him, fearful yet defiant still.

“This is not a grave,” Steve said. “This is a latrine.”

The leader blinked at him. “What.”

“It’s my turn on the chore roster to dig a latrine,” Steve said. “I’m not the only one. See?” He pointed off to the side, and the men turned.

So engaged had they been with the questions and the digging of what they had thought to be their grave, they had missed entirely when more men had left the camp behind them and begun work on similar pits a short distance away, carrying what would become privacy screens with them.

“But…you said we had a choice to make,” the sandy haired knight said. “You made it sound like-”

Steve frowned to himself. “I suppose I did, didn’t I.” He had thought his manner of questioning was a bit more effective than expected. “I was just going to give you gruel and water if you didn’t cooperate.”

The knight with the large nose closed his eyes, shivers subsiding. The leader was starting to glare at him.

“Well, that was my mistake,” Steve said, feeling a little bad for what he had put them through. “I’ll send a meat ration your way as an apology.”

From the looks he was receiving, it didn’t appear they would be accepting his apology any time soon.

“Come on then,” he said, setting the shovel on his shoulder. “Thanks for the info, anyway. Let’s get you tied up with the others.”

Glares were replaced with panic as they tried to think of what they had let slip, whispering and hissing questions at one another as they followed Steve back to the camp, falling in automatically.

Despite the misstep of the implication, Steve couldn’t help a small twitch of his lips. At least it would be a story worth a laugh down the line.

X

It was wrong to call it boisterous, but there was an energy around the camp that night, a tone to the conversations that would rise above the crackling of their fires before falling as the troops would restrain themselves. The men were gathered mostly in their squads, no hint of being split by social strata, and smiles were not hard to find. They were perhaps helped along by the wine ration Steve had released, but the exuberance had been building ever since they rode away from the holdfast earlier, and now the heady feelings of victory were bubbling over. Some had experienced it before, either in their knighthood, when they fought mountain clansmen, or against the pirates, but for others it was their first taste, and they found it sweet.

Walt and some of the other more seasoned warriors had spread themselves around the fire holes, dug so that they could enjoy the warmth without worrying about being seen from afar, and were dispensing wisdom and caution as only old soldiers could. Steve was not one of them - it was one thing to be warned to stay ready for harder battles by an old veteran, but to hear the same thing from the company leader would send a message he didn’t want to give. Instead, he found himself approaching the fire Keladry sat at, a skin of water in hand. It would be just the two of them by the fire; Toby was already snoring by the horses and Naerys was wrangling this and that.

“Steve,” Keladry said, looking up from the letter she was attempting to read by the light of the moon and the fire. It was well worn, parchment folded and refolded many times.

“Keladry,” Steve said. “Mind if I join you?”

“Please,” she said, carefully folding up her letter. It went into an envelope that she retrieved from inside her jacket, already thick with parchment.

“Is that what I think it is?” Steve asked, gesturing at it with his skin. He took a seat on a stump put there for the purpose.

A faint smile crossed her face as she stowed it once more. “It is. I sent her a letter while we were at the Gates.”

Steve watched her, deliberately not pressing.

“After speaking with Kelda…I couldn’t let Grandmother think I had suffered the same fate,” Keldary said. She touched a hand to the lump in her jacket. “Her first letter was as much remonstrating me for not writing sooner as it was demanding to know that I was well, and what I was doing.”

“I imagine you’d have plenty to tell her,” Steve said.

Keladry’s expression didn’t change, but she couldn’t hide her blush. “I made the mistake of sharing my current arrangements first. She was quite insistent on the advantages to be made in pursuing you for a match.”

Steve had been sipping at his water, and at that some went down the wrong pipe. He let out a spluttering cough, startled.

“I was quick to tell her why that would not be possible,” Keladry hurried to tell him.

“Right, yeah,” Steve said, wiping his chin. “That’s, good she’s looking out for you?”

“Grandmother Hellen has always been very forthright,” Keladry said. “She is the reason our House enjoys the strength it has today.”

“You haven’t spoken much about it,” Steve said. “Your House, I mean.”

Keladry was quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. “I suppose I felt ashamed to speak on it, after abandoning them.”

“Does your grandma see it that way?” Steve asked.

She gave a short laugh. “No. Half of one letter was spent calling me a fool for saying so.”

“Smart woman,” Steve said.

“House Delnaimn was much changed by her coming,” Keladry said. A night breeze blew through, rustling her ear length hair. “Our home Owlwatch was only a keep, but when I first saw it, it was a castle in truth. Grandmother had been betrothed to my grandfather as a punishment, but she would not settle for a poor home in a poorer land.”

“A punishment?” Steve asked, brows rising.

“Some scandal,” Keladry said. “It embarrassed her father more than her. She always said she would tell me when I was older, but somehow that day never came.”

“And Delnaimn was a punishment?”

Keladry shrugged. “It was poor, out of the way and isolated. House Arryn of Gulltown is not.”

“But that changed,” Steve said. He set his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. Kel had never been one to speak often of her home.

“A hard winter and a victory over the clansmen opened up the mountains some,” Keladry said. “Grandmother brought miners with her, and they found iron and sapphires. We have been the envy of our neighbours since.”

“And House Burchard is one of them,” Steve said.

“They were a peer, once,” Keladry said. “My betrothal to them was supposed to soothe the ill feelings that had developed since.”

Steve couldn’t help the scowl that crossed his face. The idea of arranged marriages did not sit well with him. “How’s your family doing? Did your grandma tell them…?”

“No,” Keladry said, shaking her head. “If Father knew, he would be bound to send me on to the Burchards.”

“Hellen doesn’t agree with that?”

“She does not care for them,” Keladry said, tone making it clear she was being diplomatic.

“If you told your Pa what happened, surely he wouldn’t,” Steve said.

“A lord’s word is important,” Keladry said. “Better not to put him in that position.”

“Sometimes doing the right thing means breaking your word,” Steve said. His brow furrowed as he thought of Barristan.

“Better my word than his,” Keladry said.

“What word did you give?” Steve asked. “Did you promise to marry, or was your word promised for you?”

“The word of my House is mine,” Keladry said, grimacing.

“Hellen seems fine with sticking it to them,” Steve said.

“Grandmother

really

does not care for the Burchards,” Keladry said.

“Heck, I don’t care for them and I’ve never met them,” Steve said. He felt a little bad about that, but he trusted Keladry, and the behaviour of the knight supposed to escort her to her marriage was despicable.

“I am glad we’re here,” Keladry said suddenly, apparently changing the topic.

“Why’s that?” Steve asked.

“If we rode with the Vale forces, I would likely have to spend my time hiding from them,” she said. “It would be awkward.”

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, challenge them to a duel and tell them to go away?” Steve asked.

Keladry gave a rare snort of laughter, but quickly contained herself. She shook her head as a stick broke and fell into the fire. “Even if they accepted, it would be a risk.”

“Kel,” Steve said. His tone made her look away from the fire to meet his gaze. “You know I don’t like to boast.”

“Aye?” Keladry asked, puzzled.

“I haven’t been going easy on you since Braavos. You can handle whatever knight House Burchard sends at you.”

“I’ve seen you fight in truth,” Keladry said. “I know the gulf of skill between us.”

“There’s a difference between sparring and fighting to kill,” Steve said. “If we fought, I’d take you seriously.”

“You are kind,” Keladry said, looking back to the fire.

Steve narrowed his eyes at her. “You remember our spar on the ship in Pentos?”

She nodded.

“No one else on board could have given me that. You’re a skilled warrior. Be proud.”

In the darkness of the night, it was hard to see the flush of her neck, but he managed it. She was quiet for a long moment. “You think I should challenge Lord Burchard?”

“I think you should be free to be open about who you are,” Steve said. “You shouldn’t have to hide away from feasts and dancing because someone might recognise you,” he added pointedly.

Keladry pursed her lips at the point.

“If that means kicking the stuffing out of someone who demands you give up your freedom for them…” he said, shrugging.

She made a noise of agreement, but didn’t answer. Her expression was controlled as always, but deep thoughts played out behind hazel eyes.

Steve looked around the camp. The groups around the other fires were starting to break apart, squad leaders packing their men off to bed, sentries being relieved and prisoners being checked. They would start early in the morning, and he had been clear on the need for a good night’s sleep before handing out the wine.

“Steve,” Keladry said, drawing his attention. “Thank you.”

He gave her a nod and a small smile. “Any time.”

X x X

The wagon could hardly be called comfortable, not when he was laying flat in it, covered by a heavy canvas that stifled all breeze. He felt every rock and ridge in the road, jostled by every movement; his heavy armour did not help matters, nor did the hammer laying across his chest. Beyond it, he could hear the chatter of Yorick’s and Erik’s men, as they filled the role of the drivers and escorts. Their goal that day was the next holdfast in the supply line, a larger and more fortified affair than the last. Rather than assault it directly, a more cunning approach had been chosen.

“Fifty yards out, Captain,” Yorick said from outside the wagon.

Steve knocked twice on the side of the wagon in acknowledgement. They had been over the plan enough before committing. Everyone knew their roles.

The wagons trundled on, and Steve could picture the approach in his mind’s eye. The region was hilly, and the road snaked along the low ground between them, before rising up to the keep and town that sat atop the largest. It held a decent view of its surrounds, but there were still places where a force of perhaps one hundred could hide from sight, like the lee of a hill where Keladry waited with the troops, mounted and ready.

The talk around him slowed and then stopped, as did the wagons themselves.

“Hullo the wagons!” a voice called. It came from above.

“Hullo the gates!” the driver to Steve’s wagon, a man named Byth, hollered back.

The wagon began to move again, the signal to enter the open gates apparently having been given. A shadow fell over the canvas.