It was overly generous to call it a road, but it led to the small village that was their goal. Mud slowed their wagon, clinging to its wheels, but the mules pulled stubbornly onwards. They arrived in the nameless village in the early afternoon, watched warily by the smallfolk who worked the fields outside, and the old men and women who sat at tasks within the village. Toby led the way, staring about every which way as he took in the sight of the place that his mother had been born in and stolen from. A grandmother pushed a toddler behind her dress as they passed, looking at their fine clothes and finer horses. They might only be wearing their travel gear, but compared to the ragged clothes the smallfolk wore, they might as well be wearing silk.

A pair of thin goats stared at them as they neared the muddy patch of open ground that passed for a town square. Distrustful eyes peered at them through dark doors.

“There’s more people here than I would have thought,” Steve said, looking over the dwellings. They weren’t quite ramshackle, and were constructed with a certain amount of pride, but they would certainly be looked down on by any city dweller. He judged there to be enough to house perhaps five hundred people.

“It’s in better condition than many villages I’ve seen in my travels,” Keladry said. Since leaving Riverrun, she had opened up again, free from the thought that she or her name might be recognised. “Perhaps the tax farmers are less rapacious here.”

“We’re looking at rain, perhaps,” Naerys said as she rode up on Swiftstride, peering up at the grey sky.

Robin and Lyanna sat in the wagon, looking about. Lyanna had a disquieted look on her face as she took in the conditions of the village. Dodger sat atop the wagon, ears pricked up.

“This is your show Toby,” Steve said. “Whatever you want to get done here.”

“I dunno,” Toby muttered. He still looked about, as if searching for something. Whatever it was, he didn’t seem to find it, and Khal, his black stallion, took him down a village lane without prodding.

In the distance, Steve could hear repeated shouts. There was nothing alarmed about it, but it had the sound of command to it. In the village ‘square’, one of the houses caught his eye, in better condition than any others. There was also the start of a gathering crowd, a few villagers starting to gather down the side streets and behind houses.

He dismounted, stroking Fury’s neck. The white horse nosed his pocket, demanding the apple he had hidden there, and he fed it to him, the horse careful to avoid his fingers with his teeth.

“Hello the village,” Steve called, raising an arm to their silent audience. “I am Steve Rogers. I mean you no harm.”

The villagers seemed to rustle at his words, several murmuring amongst themselves, but there was no reply.

Steve exchanged a glance with Naerys, and she shrugged.

“Is there someone you trust to talk for you?” he spoke again.

Some of those closer glanced towards the nicer house, but others seemed to glance away, out of the village, in the direction of the commands. Commands which seemed to have stopped.

Some unseen signal seemed to pass around the slowly growing crowd of observers, and their uneasiness began to lessen. He heard numerous footsteps squelching through mud one lane over, but there was also activity within the house that likely belonged to the village headsman. As its front door creaked open, a dozen armed villagers made their entrance onto the square in a half decent marching column, a grizzled old man at their head. From the house also emerged a less grizzled old man who looked like he had probably bathed in the last couple of days.

Both the old men caught sight of each other at the same time, and visibly decided not to get into things in light of the strangers in their village. They stared Steve down, but said nothing, waiting.

“I am Ser Rogers, Lord America,” Steve said, projecting for the crowd. “Who speaks for you?”

“Name’s Walt,” the fighter of the two leaders said. He looked like he wanted to spit, but settled for eyeing Steve like he might bite someone. His hair was almost entirely salt, with only a few small streaks of pepper left, and starting to retreat back from his forehead, but his beard was tidy, and cropped short. His face was lined with the records of a hard lived life.

“I’m Kincaid, milord,” the headsman said. He had a similar look to Walt, but he looked younger, less worn. His hair had more colour in it, and he had fewer frown lines. He even wore clothes that were comparable to Steve’s travel gear.

“Is there a reason you greet strangers with spears?” Steve asked, gesturing to the dozen villagers behind Walt. They had no armour to speak of, but their spears looked to be in good condition, if old.

Both men made to speak at once, speaking over one another, and they exchanged glares.

“You’re not our lord,” Walt said. “We don’t owe you any explanation.” There was a round scar on his left cheek, like an arrow had been shot through it. The old but well-maintained mail and gambeson he wore only added to his appearance as a fighter.

A vein on Kincaid’s temple twitched. “We’re armed because we need to be, milord. There’s mountain clansmen about.” He looked towards the mountains to the north. They were probably only a day’s ride away, and they seemed to loom over the village, even in the distance.

“Have you been raided?” Steve asked. He remembered what Keladry had said about the habits of the mountain clansmen.

“Not yet,” Walt said. “But they’re a-comin’.”

“And so are Lord Tillet’s men,” Kincaid said. “And when they see we’re under arms, our obligations will increase. It’s already going to be bad enough with all the newcomers.”

“Tillet didn’t defend the villages the newcomers fled, and he won’t defend us,” Walt said, and it had the sound of a long worn thin argument. “We can wait for spears that aren’t comin’ and watch as our womenfolk are dragged away, or we can take up our own and gut the fuckers who try it.”

“Lord Tillet didn’t get warning that the other villages were threatened,” Kincaid said. “It were your scouting that gave us that warning in the first place. Can’t you be ha-” he cut himself off, regret on his face.

“I’ll be happy when the whoresons are in the ground,” Walt said, face like stone. He turned back to Steve. “That enough of a reason for you, lord?”

“How many villages have been attacked?” Steve asked.

“Four in the last half year,” Walt said.

“Their survivors all ended with us,” Kincaid added.

Steve frowned. “And the lord here hasn’t done anything?”

“Helped them resettle, patrolled the coastal lands, aye, but chase the raiders up into their mountains?” Kincaid asked, shaking his head. “It’s a fool’s errand.”

“Any force worth their steel could pursue those goat fuckers into ‘their’ mountains,” Walt growled back. “This new Lord Tillet would have left his bowels on the first beach in the Stepstones and his entrails on the second.”

“You expect an attack soon then,” Steve said, looking over the dozen spearmen. They held their weapons competently enough, but Steve could see that they were new to them.

“Aye,” Walt said. He gave a whistle, and eight more armed villagers emerged from another side street, to the side and behind Steve and his companions.

“Stranger take you Walt,” Kincaid groaned.

Walt looked unapologetic. “Can’t trust strangers.”

Toby came trotting back, eyeing the gathering. “Who’re these old farts?” he asked.

“Mouthy little shit, aren’t you?” Walt said.

“Tobias,” Keladry said.

Toby ignored her, sticking out his tongue at Walt. Walt spat at the feet of his horse in response.

“Every now and then, I go and check the spots nearby that a raiding party might camp at if they wanted to hit the village,” Walt said, ignoring the glob of spit Toby sent back at him. “I saw a group of thirty approaching one of them two days ago.”

“When do you think they’ll attack?” Steve asked.

“Tonight.”

“Alright,” Steve said. “This is what we’re going to do.”

Steve was a strange lord, newly arrived in the village and without any great entourage. He displayed no true finery, and his clothes were travel stained, but even so, he possessed an undeniable strength of presence. When he spoke, people listened, and the crowd leaned in to hear his words.

“Walt, you and your men will defend the village as you planned,” he said. “Keladry and I will lay in wait outside the village and hit them from behind when they attack.”

“You’ll be becalmed before a pirate if they catch you out there,” Walt said.

“It would be simpler if they did,” Steve said. He considered the feasibility of playing bait, but dismissed it as unreliable. “Robin, I want you to pick a roof and get yourself up there. Make sure you’ve got a clear escape path. When the attack comes, your job is to send up a fire arrow in the direction it’s coming from.”

Robin nodded, face serious. This would be his first time knowingly going into a fight, but he looked ready.

“Toby, you’ve got the horses,” Steve continued. “You’ll stay on the move, and pass any messages. Let the horses do what they do best.” He’d normally forbid the kid from going near the fight, but he knew better than to give an order he knew wouldn’t be obeyed.

The horses stamped their feet, as if sensing their master’s eagerness.

“Do you have a plan for your non-combatants?” Steve asked the two village leaders.

Kincaid answered, Walt looking to him. “We mean to shelter in the festival hall. It’ll be tight with all our new neighbours, but it has a cellar.”

“Naerys, Lyanna, you’ll join them,” Steve said. Naerys looked conflicted, a hint of disappointment in her eyes, but she nodded. “Naerys, you’re the last line of defence in case anyone gets past us.”

There was some stirring in the crowd at that, and some who looked to have something to say about a woman bearing arms in defence of them, but Steve pinned them with a stare and they stayed quiet.

“I’ll have my boys set up barricades around the hall, block the streets,” Walt said.

“Good thinking,” Steve said. “Is there anything else I need to know?” There was some murmured discussion, but nothing was forthcoming. “Alright then. Let’s get to work.”

X

Night fell, and with it a sense of anxious anticipation upon the village. The last rays of the sun were disappearing over the horizon, and their preparations were near complete. Livestock had been locked away safely, streets barricaded with rough cut wood that had been intended for housing, and the villagers, those that weren’t fighting, huddled in the festival hall. Robin stood watch atop a tall house, the clear skies and bright moon giving him a clear view of most approaches.

In Kincaid’s home, lit by candles, Steve and Keladry made their final preparations. They checked each other’s arming doublets and quilted breeches. Keladry insisted on armouring Steve first, and so he stood in the small home of the village leader as he donned his new armour for only the second time, and the first for battle. From the feet up, the thick plate was secured to him, each strap and buckle shaken and checked. It wasn’t something he couldn’t manage himself, but there was a solemnity to the process that he could appreciate. The cuirass settled onto his shoulders, star front and centre, protecting him from near anything any bandit could bring to bear. The suit Tony had made for him probably protected him better, but there was something about sixty pounds of steel plate that made a man feel invincible.

Keladry moved on to his arms, gauntlet, vambrace, and pauldron strapped and fixed in place on each side. He curled his arms and twisted in place, crouching and rising. His movement was smooth and almost unhindered, although he didn’t think he’d be able to bring his foot over his head as he normally could. Finally, he was handed his helm. He looked at its face for a long moment, before placing it on his head.

“How do I look?” Steve asked.

“Like you could take on the Kingdoms alone,” Keladry answered.

“Well, maybe one of them,” Steve said. “Your turn.”

The process was unfamiliar, but Steve was a quick learner, and Keladry was soon clad in her own plate armour, checking her balance and mobility. If Steve was a tank, she was a drone, little consideration for anything but lethality. The armet helm she donned only completed the picture, visor snapping into place, two narrow slits staring out at the world.

Clad in armour, she stood taller, every inch speaking of quiet confidence, like this was her natural state. Still, her helm tilted towards Steve, silently questioning.

“You look strong,” Steve said. “Did you fight much, the year you and Toby were alone?”

Keladry flipped her visor up, revealing hazel eyes. “Bandits, here and there. Once a group of men at arms that had been sent to harass another lord’s village. Not mountain clansmen though, not since the ambush.”

“They won’t know what hit them,” Steve said. “You ready?”

She strode over to the wall, against which her glaive leaned. Two metres of wood, and another half metre of blade, ensured that she would outreach near anyone on the battlefield. “I’m ready.”

Steve took up his shield, strapping it to his arm, and set his hammer into the harness on his back, the head down at his waist. He felt a stirring within him, a nostalgia that harkened back to the early days with the Avengers, almost as if he could look over his shoulder and see Tony and Clint arguing about arrows, or Thor idly swinging his hammer. It passed, and he clapped Keladry on the shoulder. “Let’s go be heroes.”

X x X

In the lee of a small hillock, Steve and Keladry waited. To the south, across several fallow fields, they could see the village, torches lit throughout in an attempt to make it seem like they were unaware of the coming raid. Steve waited with inhuman patience gained over many long watches and stakeouts, and Keladry took her cues from him as they kept their vigil. It had been some few hours already, and they did not know how many more were to come.

Then, a flaming arrow rose from the village. It shot to their left, briefly illuminating a number of figures creeping through the fields to the east. There was a scream of pain as one of them was hit in the side.

“Charge, quietly,” Steve ordered. He broke into a jog, and Keladry followed.

The raiders were perhaps one hundred metres away, but the two warriors ate up the distance, their breathing steady. Perhaps some knights would think it inadvisable, but Steve could run for days, and Keladry had long since been introduced to the joys of the suicide run after watching his exercises. Metal clanked and rattled, but the raiders were too distracted to see them coming, trying as they were to avoid the arrows speeding out of the darkness towards them as they ducked low and charged the village. Already two more had shafts sticking from them, and as the warriors neared, one of them keeled over, dead.

They hit them side on, the raiders blind to the presence until it was too late, so focused were they on closing with the village. The field was watered with blood as Steve and Keladry crashed through the dozen or so men. Steve knocked two clean off their feet with a single sweep of his hammer, leaving them wheezing, while Keladry decapitated one and drove the iron shod base into the temple of another. They careened through to the other side, leaving their foes in disarray behind them.

Some turned, others tried to keep charging, but their momentum had been lost. Clad in furs and mismatched armour, many of them wore old burn marks proudly, and they snarled as they saw the two armoured warriors before them. They cursed them in a language that Steve didn’t recognise, but Keladry cursed them right back, and they reared back in shock and offence. Whatever she had said, it was enough to turn them from the village, and they charged, howling.

Seven charged two, but it was not nearly enough. Axes and swords crashed against plate and were ignored as skulls were cracked and limbs carved from bodies. Keladry disembowelled the final two with a single sweep of her glaive, leaving them screaming in the dirt. She put them out of their misery with precise cuts to their throats, and then saw to the others that Steve had left wounded and broken.

“Don’t see much use for prisoners?” Steve asked.

“Not of mountain clansmen,” Keladry answered. She cleaned her blade on the fur of one of the fallen.

The sound of combat reached them, coming from the village. The fight was not yet done.

“Kel, head to the hall, make sure it’s still safe,” Steve said. “If you don’t join me at the fight afterwards, I’ll assume there was trouble and come to you.”

“Aye,” Keladry said.

They split, running for the village and their goals. Steve could still hear the occasional buzz of an arrow fired, and the pained shouts of wounded men. He followed it to the village square, and there he found a scrum of men, fighting and dying. Side on to them he was, and he could see the villagers valiantly warding off the clansmen who were laughing and roaring, drunk off bloodlust. The clansmen were outnumbered, only ten of them, but it was clear which of the groups were the better fighters, some spearmen crawling away from the fight, others still and bloody on the ground. The only thing keeping them from being overwhelmed was Walt, standing in the centre of the wavering line. He wore an old maille hauberk and a skullcap, and his bared teeth were outlined with blood, as if he had torn out a man’s throat with them. The clansmen near him were wary, but they would not be deterred forever.

Steve made his entrance without ceremony, charging into the pack at a sprint. He did not bother with shield nor hammer, simply bulling his way through the enemy, and they were left scattered in his wake. Limbs cracked and bones were crushed as Captain America decided that he had a pressing need to be on the other side of them.

Walt was the first to take advantage, driving his spear into the gut of the leader and tearing it out, leaving the man shrieking with pain. The scent of blood and shit was heavy in the air, and the old soldier added to it as he gave another clansman a wound to match. The other spearmen soon followed his lead, and the raiders had no chance to recover from Steve’s entrance before generational fury was vented upon them, each raider speared half a dozen times. Soon the only sound was the panting of the survivors as they regained their breath, and a brief, wet choking as one of the clansmen tried to breathe with a torn out throat.

“There’s a dozen or so dead in the eastern field,” Steve said to Walt. He quickly counted the bodies in the dirt again. “You said you saw about thirty?”

“At least,” Walt said, leaning on his spear. He spat, trying to clear the blood from his mouth, and wiped his face with the back of his hand, but it only served to smear the blood further.

Keladry had yet to join them, but there was no sign of Toby either, and he misliked it.

“Toby went west with the horses, but he hasn’t come back yet,” Robin said. The boy was crouched on a nearby roof, and he seemed to have been hopping from house to house.

Steve hesitated, but only for a moment. He might have told Keladry he would join her if she did not come to the fight, but he knew her well enough to know she’d want him to see to Toby. “Robin, head to the hall and make sure all is well. Take some of the spearmen with you. Walt, you’ll see to your wounded?” He received a nod from him, and the villagers in the best shape headed over to Robin as he slipped down from the rooftop. While at another time some might argue at being told to follow a teenager, after Steve’s entrance to the fight, none would gainsay his orders. “I’m going to find Toby. Watch each other’s backs; we’re almost through this.”

No time was wasted, the feeling of time slipping away while a companion might be in danger nagging at them. As Steve loped through the village, armour clattering as he went, he passed two more corpses with arrows in their necks. He soon left the settlement behind, and he slowed as he beheld the sight before him.

The good news was that Toby was fine. He was fine because the raiders who had attempted to attack from this direction had been reduced to a bloody, mangled mass in the dirt. Even as he watched, Toby led another pass as he sat atop Redbloom, the other horses following behind. Even one of the mules, Bill, the one that so often butted heads with Keladry’s warhorse, had joined in the carnage, doing his best to keep up at the rear of the herd. A raiding party might be a threat to a peaceful village and the untrained smallfolk who lived within, but they had clearly come off second best in this encounter.

Toby saw Steve and trotted over to him, the other horses following. Blood and gore dripped form their hooves. “What’d you come ‘ere for? I got it handled.”

“Pass messages, I said,” Steve said, voice dry.

“I sent a message,” Toby said, shrugging. “‘Ow’d the rest go?”

“Fine so far,” Steve said, “but some might have slipped through to the hall; I sent Keladry to check and Robin to support her with some spearmen.”

“Kel’s fine,” Toby said, sure of her skill. “But Steve, these’re Burned Men.”

“Burned Men?” Steve asked.

Toby spat to the side. “Bastards they are. No clan wants to fuck with them.”

“You can tell me about them once we’re sure they’ve been dealt with,” Steve said, “and after Keladry hears about your language.”

Toby gave him a betrayed look. Steve was unimpressed.

“Come on,” Steve said. “I can’t hear any fighting, but let’s make sure everyone is ok.”

X

The festival hall was only two lanes away from the square, but from the bodies that lay before it, it seemed that several raiders had managed to sneak past and try their luck at those protected within it, not that it seemed to have done them much good. Two bodies lay by the main door, throats cut messily, and Naerys sat near them, bloody short sword over her lap and Dodger beside her, jaw flecked with blood. She was pale but unharmed, and was talking quietly with Keladry. There were two more bodies further away, one missing its head, a move Keladry seemed fond of, but the other had been cut clean in two at the waist, entrails spilling out from the torso in a macabre display. There was one last clansman, but this one still lived, kneeling in the dirt as Walt stood behind him, spear pressed into his back. Some of the other spearmen were gathered, but most were still seeing to the rest of the village.

“All well?” Steve called as he neared.

“Aye,” Keladry answered. “If there are any clansmen left, they’ve long fled.”

“Just this last bit of mountain scum left,” Walt said, jabbing the captive with his spear, “and we’ll fix that soon enough.”

“The sentence for banditry is hanging, right?” Steve asked. Walt clearly had a grievance with the mountain clans, but even so, he wouldn’t sit by and watch a prisoner be abused, no matter their crimes.

“He’ll hang, don’t worry,” Walt said, although he did ease off with his spear.

The captive had been grimly quiet, but he looked up as seven horses joined them. Recognition lit in his eyes, and a horrible grin spread across his face, revealing crooked and missing teeth. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you alive again boy,” he said, looking at Toby. His accent was harsh, but he spoke Westerosi easily enough.

“Chet,” Toby said, voice flat. There was a coldness in his eyes.

“What’d you do, run off after the raid that killed your Da?” Chet said. “Pretend you’re not some clan’s get and lie your way into being a bed servant for some Andal?”

“Still talking through your arse then,” Toby said, sneering. “See nothin’s changed. Piss in anyone’s porridge lately?”

Chet snarled at Toby, but kept his calm. “You know what has changed though boy? Now I get to fuck your Ma whenever I want, instead of just when I catch her out alone.”

Toby’s face went still.

“Toby,” Keladry said, voice warning, but Toby ignored her, not looking away from the captive.

“I ever tell you that I might be your daddy?” Chet said. “You were born not long after the first time I had your Ma, but it wasn’t the last.”

Walt struck him in the back of the head with the butt of his spear, but the raider winced and ignored him.

“Yeah, you and that streak of piss you called Da not coming back from that raid was real good for me and the lads,” Chet said. “Your Ma’s cunt has been doing the work of ten-”

Redbloom whirled and kicked Chet in the head, caving it in with a sick crunch. The force of the blow pushed him back onto Walt’s spear, and it pierced clean through his chest. Redbloom galloped away into the darkness, and Keladry jumped onto Malorie without pause, chasing after him.

“Guess he won’t be hanged after all,” Walt said, pulling his spear free with a squelch.

Steve looked down the lane his friends had disappeared down. It was easy sometimes, to forget that Toby was hardly ten. Come the morning, he would speak with them, and they would plan their next steps. For now though, they would need their space.

“See to the corpses,” he commanded. “Any wounded, take them to the village healer, and I’ll help aid them.”

The raid had been repulsed, the battle won, but the execution of the last raider had left a sour taste in his mouth, and not because of its manner.

X

The morning came, and with it questions. Keladry and Toby had returned an hour after they had disappeared the previous night, both on Redbloom. Despite the hardness of her plate armour, the boy had been sleeping as he leant back into her. Kel had brooked no questions, carrying Toby into their tent and laying him down on his bedroll. As the sun rose, they all gathered in the main section, some more well rested than others. There was an air of expectation, and all were watching Steve as he stood at one end of the ‘room’, arms crossed.

“I don’t think that there’s any question of what we’re going to do next,” Steve said, watching Toby as he spoke. Gone was the chaotic but eager child who was happy so long as he was around horses, replaced by a kid with a helpless anger, mind bent on only one thing. “What we need to decide on is the how. Toby, these Burned Men, they’re the clan you walked away from?”

“My clan weren’t no Burned Men,” Toby said. “They were Mountain Runners, but they must’ve been folded into the Burned.”

“Burned Men are one of the larger clans,” Keladry explained. “Like the others, they’ve plagued the Vale for centuries, constantly raiding and stealing women.”

“Why are they called the Burned Men?” Lyanna asked. She sat on the floor, holding Dodger to herself as she scratched him behind the ears.

“Because when they come of age, they burn a part of their body off,” Keladry said.

“No one wants to fuck with a clan full of people like that,” Toby said.

“Do you know where this clan lives?” Steve asked.

Toby shook his head. “They move, so the knights don’t come in and wipe ‘em out,” he said. “And my clan moved more than most, ‘s why we were called the Mountain Runners. I dunno where they’d be now, being taken in by the Burned.”

“How deep into the mountains are they?” Steve asked.

“Deep,” Keladry said. “They’ve been there for thousands of years, and they know their lands well.”

“Their numbers?”

“No one knows.”

Steve frowned, considering. They didn’t need to conquer the mountains, a good thing since the might of the Vale had apparently failed at that for the last few thousand years. All they needed to do was find a specific person in a large swathe of hostile mountains, and get them out. Doable. The question was how.

“Do the Burned Men have enemies in other clans?” Steve asked.

“Plenty,” Toby said.

“Would they work with us?”

“No chance. Not with lowlanders.”

“What about a neutral ground for a challenge?” Steve said. “Could we win your mother back from them?”

“The only honour the mountain clans have is reserved for each other,” Keladry said. “They’ve none to spare for lowlanders.”

“‘Lowlanders’,” Steve said. “Is that all they think of people outside the clans?”

“At best,” Keladry said.

“So force is our best option.”

“The only option,” Keladry said. There was a heat to her that she hadn’t shown before, her disdain for the clans showing through the composed front she usually wore.

“We could approach the local lord,” Naerys said, having been quiet until now. “Kincaid said that he had been contacted for aid. He would be obliged to help us, given our defence of his people.”

Robin and Lyanna made similar noises of disgust, perhaps louder than they had intended given their guilty looks. “Sorry Naerys,” Robin said.

“I know,” Naerys said, pursing her lips. “But it is an avenue we could pursue.”

“The alternative is heading into the mountains on our own,” Steve said.

“Yeh could recruit a few lads from the village,” a new voice said, speaking from outside the tent.

Steve looked sharply in its direction, watching as a shadow rose up from where it had lain flat next to the eastern tent wall. They must have approached when it was still dark to do so unseen or unheard. “Show yourself,” he commanded.

Walt stuck his head in through the tent flap, and the rest of him soon followed. “Apologies for the intrusion, but if you’re dealing with the mountain clans, I want in,” he said.

“You eavesdrop on every visitor that passes through your village?” Steve asked, somewhat annoyed. Whether it was at himself for missing the man or the man for the intrusion, he couldn’t say.

“Just the nobles,” Walt said.

“How does that go for you?” Steve asked.

“Well, seeing as they never catch me,” he said, shrugging. His clothes were dusty from where he had crawled and hidden out of sight, but he was unbothered.

“You want something,” Steve said.

“I do,” Walt said.

Steve waited, watching the man. He was an old soldier that still had a few fights in him, going by what he had seen last night, and it was best to be wary of those.

“I lost some boys last night, and others have little will to take up the spear again,” Walt said, “but some got a taste for it. You bring me with you when you go to rescue this one’s mother, and I’ll bring ‘em, and train them as part of the deal.”

“You’ll train them,” Steve said, questioning.

“I fought against the Blackfyres in the Stepstones, and learned my craft well,” Walt said. He looked older than Barristan, but that was the harsh life of a smallfolk telling, and he still held a wiry strength.

Steve considered the man. The offer wasn’t without merit.

Walt held his stare, unbothered.

“Why do you want this?” Steve asked at length. He had a suspicion, but he wanted to hear it from the man.

“Clans took someone from me once,” Walt admitted. “I mean to get her back, or make them pay.”

“Then if you think your lads are up for it, we’ll recruit them and follow the trail the raiders left,” Steve said.

“Good,” Walt said, cold satisfaction in his voice. “I’ll tell them you agreed.” Steve cocked an eyebrow at him, and he snorted a laugh. “I knew what I wanted before I came here. We’ll be ready to leave tomorrow.” He let himself out of the tent, a spring in his step.

“Bit rude, innee,” Toby said, a hint of his old self coming through.

Keladry laid a hand on his head, tousling it lightly, but she was smiling.

“This is going to be dangerous,” Steve said, looking to the others. “More dangerous than is right for me to exp-”

“Shut up, Steve,” Naerys said.

“I’m probably safer with you in the middle of a mountain clan camp than I am here on my own,” Lyanna said.

“If Toby is going, I’m going too,” Robin said.

Dodger barked.

Steve sighed, unable to hold back a rueful smile. “I guess that’s that then. We leave tomorrow.”

X

It did not take them long to prepare, shifting what equipment they would need from the wagon to the saddlebags of their horses and the backs of their mules. They would have no comfortable tent for their journey into the mountains, and no wagon to carry their possessions, for what roads there were would not serve well enough, but they would have their mounts and their bedrolls. The rest of the day was spent relaxing, taking advantage of the calm before their march into the deeply hostile territory of a people who had been resisting the rulers of the land for thousands of years, to rescue a woman who had been written off as lost the moment she had been taken nearly a decade ago. For anyone else, it would have been a fool’s errand. For Steve…he’d taken worse odds.

The villagers gave them a solemn send off, thankful for their aid but doubtful of their chances. Walt had eight young men with him, spears on their shoulders and packs hoisted on their backs, even if they seemed a bit empty. They had looted what armour the raiders had worn, and each of them had some basic protection. All of them had family saying their farewells, but none had sweethearts they were leaving behind, and by Steve’s judgement this was by Walt’s design. Grey clouds rolled in as they left the village behind, and it fit the mood.

Steve set a swift pace, and Walt took advantage to drill proper marching technique into the men. They were strong young men, all seasoned by the labour of a farm, but they weren’t anything close to soldiers yet. Toby rode ahead, as was his habit, and Keladry led their small column, eyes alert for foes. The others followed behind so as not to stir up dust to be marched through. As midday approached, Steve slipped off Fury to march beside the old man.

“You seem to know where we’re going,” Steve said. Walt had been subtly nudging their path since their departure.

“We don’t have a lot of things that a soldier might need, back in the village,” Walt said. “I bet the clansmen camp will have a few things though.”

“Acquire the supply of the enemy for the good of the army,” Steve mused.

“That’s it,” Walt said. “You’ve served before then.”

“I’ve done my time,” Steve said.

“Hmm.” Walt eyed him, taking his measure. “You’ve got a bit of babyface, but you fight like a veteran.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, straight faced. They marched in silence for a time, and Steve subtly extended their lead from the rest. “Why were you so eager to get these fellas along on this trip?”

“Because I like our chances with them better than if it was just an old man, two knights, a woman and some kids,” Walt said.

“You saw how they fought,” Steve said. “And you saw what I did. You’ve got another reason.”

Walt chewed the inside of his cheek, the one with the scar tissue in it. “Because as soon as that fight was over, I saw that they’d got a taste for it. They wanted more, just like I did twenty years ago. I was lucky, and had Ninepenny Kings making trouble, but there’s no war on the horizon for them.”

“So you want to get it out of their system,” Steve said.

“Show them it’s not all fun and games, aye,” Walt said. “That, and Kincaid was right about one thing. Tillet will increase what we owe if he sees we’ve men under arms. If we can avoid that, even get some boys sending coin home, we could really start to flourish as a village.”

“No guarantee they all come home.”

“That’s true,” Walt acknowledged. “But I chose who I chose for a reason, and I’ll do my damndest to get them home safe. That’s if they don’t get a taste for the life.”

“I had thoughts about starting a mercenary company,” Steve said. “But this was in Essos, not Westeros.”

“Why would a noble want to do a thing like that?” Walt asked. The land they walked now was starting to grow hillier, and less like the sort of land that a farmer might eye appraisingly.

“I saw things I wanted to change,” Steve said.

“Things you wanted to change, in Essos,” Walt said. “You’re not talking about what I think you’re talking about.”

“Why not?”

Walt snorted. “Pick something easier first, like wiping out the clans.”

“Everything is too hard until someone does it,” Steve said. He wasn’t going to go into the ethics of wiping out a group of people with a soldier in a feudal society. “Something to think about, if the lads get a taste for fighting.”

“As you say,” Walt said.

“What did you say their names were, anyway?” Steve asked.

“Don’t tell them I told you, but they’re Ed, Jon, Symon, Gerold, Tim, Humfrey, Will, and Hugo,” Walt said. “I said you wouldn’t acknowledge them until they could maintain a march and hold a spear line.”

“That’s a reward for them?” Steve said.

“They got a bit excited about the way you knocked over those raiders, don’t let it go to your head, milord,” Walt said.

Steve was starting to get the feeling that Walt wasn’t too concerned with that whole lèse-majesté thing.

“By the time we reach the mountains, I’ll have these lads good enough to not die to the first savage that runs screaming at them with an axe,” he continued.

“They did alright in the raid,” Steve said.

“They were one more death from breaking discipline,” Walt said quietly, after glancing back at them, “and they still held longer than I thought they would.”

“Having something to fight for will do that,” Steve said.

Walt grumbled an agreement. “They’re no household guard, but I suppose they did well enough.”

The two of them spoke on less important matters as they continued on, setting a picture-perfect example of a march for the recruits to mimic, and by early afternoon, they were nearing the camp that the raiders had left behind. It was likely deserted, but still they approached cautiously, Steve and Keladry leading the way, the recruits following under Walt’s strict eye.

It was indeed empty, but there was evidence of somewhat recent activity. Much of the camp looked to have been left in a messy state, as if the owners of the tents and bedrolls were expecting to return, but there was evidence of another that had been present. It seemed there was at least one survivor of the raid on the village.

“What does this mean for us?” Steve asked. “Will the Burned Men be on the lookout for retaliation?”

Walt shook his head and spat.

“They shouldn’t,” Keladry said. “Even the greatest of Houses rarely pursue when the raiders get deep enough into the mountains.”

“Cowards,” Walt grumbled.

“They know that men who go in rarely come out,” Keladry finished.

“Let’s get to looting then,” Steve said. “We’ve still got plenty of daylight.”

They did so, and by the end of it, each recruit had a bedroll and a tent to sleep in, even if some needed a beating and an airing first. There was little of value otherwise however, the most useful loot having been carried by the raiders and taken from their corpses. Before long, it was time to continue on, each man’s pack a little fuller, and their backs a little straighter, feeling more like proper soldiers.

The mountains beckoned.

X x X

The Mountains of the Moon made even the largest of men feel small, and there was a curious sense of being disconnected from the outside world. Through valleys and along ridges they walked, Toby leading the way as he followed marks and signs only apparent to him. While the Arryns might lay claim to the entirety of the Vale, it was clear that there were large swathes of the mountains that knew no lords but the mountain clans. Fields that had never been tilled and mountains that had never been quarried as far as they could see, the barest remains of what might once have been a village the only sign of lowland presence they encountered.

By day they marched, breaking camp with the dawn and following the trails. Come the afternoon, they stopped while the sun still shone and trained. Their options were limited by their need to march again the next day, but Steve and Walt still had plenty of options to improve their raw recruits. The young men soon came to curse the very idea of the push up and the plank, to say nothing of the spear drills they were put through. The weapons may not have been designed for it, but Keladry had them following her glaive exercises as a group, drilling a basic pattern into their minds and muscles. Any cockiness at their growing skills was tamped down by a round of hand to hand in the ring with Steve as they were manhandled like errant children in the pursuit of teaching them basic self-defence. If there were any complaints to be had, the men kept quiet when they saw the kids learning the same moves they were, and a woman more advanced.

In the mountains, there was no lord to lay claim to the deer, or to enforce poaching laws, and so the party ate richly each night. Robin would venture out with Toby and a horse, and return with a hart slung over its back. They had what roots and tubers could be found, but they were few, and despite the eagerness the men showed to be eating so much meat, Steve would be glad for the variety of civilisation when they returned.

Gutting and dressing the hart was a task Steve had taken for himself, finding himself enjoying it, although Dodger constantly begged for scraps. He would watch as Keladry put the men through their drills, leading them with her glaive, while Toby and Walt squabbled over nothing nearby. Robin would produce the reed ring he had taken from the archery competition at Harrenhal, and spend the late afternoon shooting. He was starting to core the ring more often than not, and Lyanna would cheer him when he did. Naerys liked to sit and read, keeping an eye on them all.

After everyone had been thrown around in the dirt by Steve in the name of training, all were ready for a hot meal, the spices he had restocked before leaving Riverrun doing wonders for morale.

On the seventh night of their journey into the mountains, Steve watched the stars emerge as night fell, enjoying the warmth cast by the fire. They were all gathered around it, small conversations taking place as they digested their meal. The villagers had made to set up their own area the first night they made camp, but Steve had waved off the idea, and they had shared a fire each night since. He had apparently underestimated the social divide between the smallfolk and a lord however, as none of the recruits had struck up a conversation with him, and even Walt had shown a more respectful side. He ignored the thought that it had taken time to work on Robin and Lyanna to get them to drop the formality, arguably the only two of his companions who had joined his retinue in anything approaching normal circumstances.

“Excuse me, Ser Steve?”

Maybe tonight was the night, Steve thought. “Yes, Symon?”

Symon swallowed as he became the focus of attention of all around the campfire. He was a tall and slender man with dark hair, but the week on the march had already done him some good. “I was wondering, well me and the lads were wondering,” and here there were some entirely silent recriminations from his fellows, “what part of the Kingdoms you come from?”

“I’m not from the Seven Kingdoms,” Steve said.

Glances were exchanged as Steve made no move to answer further.

“Why do you ask? You draw the short straw?” Steve said, mouth quirked.

“Ay-Nay, milord,” Symon said. “We were just wondering where you learned to trample people like you did at the village.”

“That’s just something I picked up,” Steve said. “It’s mostly the armour, really. Nothing special.”

“What would you count as something special then?” Another man asked. It was Hugo, the biggest of the men, one that Steve had heard the others teasing for sometimes taking over for the ox when it tired of the plough. “Er, milord.”

“Ser Steve is fine,” Steve said. He had almost told them to call him Steve, days ago, but the look in Naerys’ eye had persuaded him otherwise. “I don’t know what you’d call something special.”

“Tell them about the Kingswood Brotherhood,” Naerys said from her seat next to him.

“Or the melee final,” Robin said from across the fire.

“The seabeast that almost drowned ya,” Toby suggested.

“I guess the melee final at the Harrenhal tournament was something,” Steve said.

“We heard about that,” another man, Tim, said eagerly. He had large ears and spoke quickly, leaning forwards. “Trader came through last month who’d been there. That was really you who won it? Milord.”

The men looked interested, and so Steve gave in without much reluctance. “Yeah, that was me. I had some people try to get in my way, but I made it to the finals without much trouble. I had some good fights against Robert Baratheon, Yohn Royce, and Barristan the Bold.”

“Lord Royce!” Tim said, admiringly. “What was he like?”

“Well, he put up a good fight and he can move like nobody’s business in that bronze armour of his…”

Steve spun the tale of his melee victory, speaking well of his opponents and their skill. The camp was enthralled, even those who had been there to see it themselves. When the admiration got to be a bit much, Steve shifted attention by throwing Robin and Toby under the bus, and mentioning their third and second places in the archery and horse racing. They retaliated with his antics in the axe throwing, and he was obliged to tell that story as well. The recruits relaxed as the tales were told, and they saw the common folk of his retinue exchange friendly mockings with him. They fed the fire twice over the course of the telling, and by the end, all were filled with the quiet cheer of full bellies and good company. The stars twinkled overhead as silence crept in.

“What do you spose will happen when we find the clanners?” Jon, the quietest of the men asked. His nose was long and hooked, and he preferred to listen than to speak.

A solemnity came over the fire. In their isolation, and the simple cheer of their routine, it was easy to forget that their small band was marching towards the most feared of all the mountain clans, intent on taking the fight to them.

“Without knowing their defences, I can’t say,” Steve said. “But whatever we do, we do it smart. That might mean extracting our target quietly, or it might mean me making a distraction while you go in and get them out.”

The men accepted his words, reassured at least that Steve seemed to have the beginnings of a plan.

“One thing I will make clear though,” Steve said, and here his tone hardened. “We’re attacking their home, and that means non-combatants. If a child runs at you with a weapon, you disarm them, kick them away, but you do not strike them with steel. Am I understood?”

There was a pause as they took in his words, and no one answered.

“Aye, Lord America,” Walt said. “They understand.”

“They never spared our young uns,” Gerold, a wiry man with a healing cut along his jaw, said. “Why show mercy to some who’re just gonna raid us in a few seasons?” He stared into the fire, away from the glare Walt was giving him.

“We don’t know each other well,” Steve said quietly. “I know you’ve suffered from their raids, and I know you’re here as much for revenge as you are in hopes of rescuing those they’ve stolen, but I believe that you’re better than the clansmen who raided you.” He looked around the fire. “If you march with me, then you act like men, not animals.”

“We understand, Lord,” Humfrey said. He had killed two clansmen in the raid, and the others looked up to him. His head was shaved, and a scar over his left eye pulled it half closed in a perpetual squint. “We won’t shame you.”

“It’s not about shame,” Steve said. “It’s about being better, and being able to look the people you defended in the eye afterwards.” His retinue, and some of the men, were watching him intently as they absorbed his words, but others seemed doubtful. “We’re in these mountains to set right a wrong, not cause another.”

“Yes, milord,” came the answers, the villagers each murmuring their assent.

Steve sighed. “Speak with me tomorrow if you wish. I won’t hold it against you, and it’s getting late.”

“Humfrey, you’ve got first watch with Symon,” Walt said. “G-”

“I’ll take the midnight shift,” Steve said.

“As you say,” Walt said. “Gerold, you have the third watch with Ed…”

The night came to an end, not on the happiest of notes, but giving those new to Steve’s company plenty to think about.

X

It was midmorning the following day and they were well on their way. The sun was obscured by light grey clouds, and they were making their way along a trail at the edge of a valley, near the slope. It reminded Steve of some of a picturesque Swiss valley he and the Commandos had ambushed a convoy of Hydra agents in during the War. None of the men had approached Steve yet, and he had seen a few considering glances at Toby as he guided them, but from what he heard of their whispered conversations, he was optimistic. He was considering breaking for lunch when their journey was interrupted.

At the head of the column, Toby’s head jerked up. “Off the trail, quick!” He and Quicksilver darted off the trail and up the slope, into the dense woods that carpeted the mountain side.

The rest of them followed his lead, not questioning their guide. Into the woods they went, man and beast, until they were shrouded by its gloom and could just see the trail they had come from.

Those mounted dismounted, and Steve approached Toby. “What did you see?”

“Quicksilver smelled sommat,” Toby said. “Another horse.”

“How far away?”

“Dunno,” Toby said. He fidgeted in place.

“You made the right call,” Steve said. “We wait,” he said to Keladry, and she passed on his word. She had her glaive out, and like Steve wore the under layer of her armour, the quilted jacket and chausses offering some protection while they travelled.

They hunkered down, watching and waiting in silence. Birds took up their calls once more, after they had been disturbed by the party’s intrusion into the forest. As was always the way, many of them were suddenly aware of a pressing need to answer the call of nature, but they persevered, waiting. Ten minutes and half an eternity later, they began to hear faint sounds of movement.

Through the trees, they watched, catching glimpses as a party made their way along the trail. There were perhaps two dozen mountain clansmen, some mounted, but most not. They were armed and armoured for a fight, and they spoke boisterously with one another in their own tongue. Steve thought he could make out burns on a few of them.

“We’ll hit them as they pass,” Steve said. “We can’t let them go if there’s a chance they might raid another village.”

Walt nodded. “I’ll ready the lads.” He scuttled over to them, whispering orders.

“Toby, can you get the horses to throw their riders?” Steve asked.

“Uh, maybe?” Toby said. “But I’d have to shout for them to hear me, and they might like their riders.”

“It’s not a mental thing?” He watched as the clansmen drew closer.

“Wot?” Toby asked. “How am I supposed to tell the horses what to do without talking to them?”

“Alright then. Can you send our horses down the slope after I engage, before the men do?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, I can do that,” Toby said, nodding slowly.

“Naerys, you’ll stay with Lyanna up here,” Steve said. “Robin, follow the men down, and pick off any riders you can. We don’t want them escaping and carrying word of our presence.”

The three of them nodded, Robin and Naerys more at ease than Lyanna. He caught her glancing at Naerys’ short sword; he might have to get her an easily hidden dagger or something.

Walt returned. “They’re ready. You want to lead a charge, hit them as they pass?”

“No, Keladry will lead the charge,” Steve said. “I’m going to slip around behind them and slit throats until they notice me.”

Keladry accepted his words, only a faint clenching of her jaw giving away any nerves. Walt looked like he might have argued had the raiders not been so close.

“Walt will be at your back, you just focus on cutting through the highlanders and keeping yourself alive,” Steve said. “You start charging when the front of their line reaches you, or when they see me, whichever comes first.”