Riverrun lacked the grandeur of Harrenhal, but it still had a certain majesty to it. Three sided, with red sandstone walls, it had many of the defensive features that Steve was becoming more familiar with. Nestled between the confluence of two rivers, he could see where a channel had been dug on the third side, as well as the sluice gates that would allow it to be flooded, turning the castle into an island. Red and blue banners bearing the image of a trout hung from the walls.

As Steve and his companions neared, it became clear that a festive mood had descended upon the castle. Garlands of flowers decorated the bridge that crossed the dry ditch, and the guards wore ribbons, their fish shaped helms shining brightly in the morning sun. Word was passed of their arrival, a boy darting deeper into the castle, as they crossed the bridge, horseshoes clopping on the wood, wagon wheels rumbling along behind them.

Leading the way upon Fury, Steve made an impression on the few present to see their entrance through the main gate. At Naerys’ instructions, all had dressed in their second best finery, and they wore it well. Behind Steve came Keladry and Naerys, side by side, and then Robin and Lyanna guiding their wagon. Toby brought up the rear, the boy and his sand steed a striking sight. The rest of their mounts obediently followed behind him.

In the courtyard of the castle, a small greeting party awaited them, looking as if they’d just taken their places. Calling it a greeting party was perhaps overly generous, as the middle-aged man leading the few servants looked less like he was happy to be there and more like he’d been called away from another task.

Steve dismounted and approached the man, Naerys and Keladry following suit.

“Lord America,” the man said. “I am Steward Utherydes Wayn. By the hospitality of Lord Tully, welcome to Riverrun. Please,” he said, gesturing forward one of the servants

The servant offered Steve a square of bread, a bowl of salt held in his other hand. Familiar with the ceremony from Naerys’ teachings, he accepted the bread and dunked it in the bowl, before swallowing it down. “Thanks for having me.”

The ritual observed, Utherydes nodded in satisfaction. “Your animals will be housed in the stables for the duration of your stay, and a servant will show you to your rooms. Good day.” With that, the steward departed, leaving them in the care of a few servants.

“Toby, you’re in charge of the horses,” Steve said. “Robin, Lyanna, you’ve got the things we’ll need from the wagon.”

Naerys gave him an approving nod as the castle servants began to swarm around them, beginning the task of getting them settled. The kids went about their tasks, while Steve, Naerys, and Keladry were led into the keep and towards their lodging.

There was a lot of red on display. The stones of the keep were made from a similar hue as the walls, and redwood doors sat in every doorway. Everywhere there were symbols of celebration, vibrant banners and garlands of flowers, and the uniforms of the guards they saw would have satisfied the strictest drill instructor. The servant leading them did not make conversation, only taking them further into the keep. The lower levels seemed to be their destination, and they passed a number of other guest rooms on their way. Finally, they arrived in a hall at the rear of the keep with four doors in it.

“The hall is yours,” the servant said. “One room for your wards, and one for each of you.”

“That is most generous of Lord Tully,” Naerys said.

“Lord Eddard’s request,” the servant explained. “He explained your situation to my lord, rather than have the children room with the other servants.”

Steve exchanged a glance with his companions. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what his ‘situation’ was, but now wasn’t the time to ask.

The rooms were perfectly serviceable, if lacking in ornamentation, and they were settled in short order. They were all very similar, as they found when they rubbernecked each other’s rooms.

“Finally getting a room to yourself,” Steve said to Naerys.

“Yes,” Naerys said. “At last.”

Keladry was studiously inspecting a painting on the wall.

“There’s to be a feast this eve my lord,” the servant said as he stepped into the room. More servants began to arrive, leading the kids as they brought their possessions to the rooms.

“How long until the weddings?” Steve asked.

“Lady Catelyn and Lord Brandon will wed the day after the morrow,” the servant said. “The other wedding that evening.”

“Thanks,” Steve said. He slipped a silver coin to the man. “For you and your fellows.”

The servant gave his thanks, and soon they were properly set up, and the workers departed.

“Toby will linger in the stables as long as he can justify,” Keladry said.

“We’ve a few hours until we need to prepare for the feast,” Naerys said.

“We should probably find this Lord Tully and pay our respects,” Steve said.

“I will stay in my room,” Keladry said.

Steve frowned. “You don’t need to hide away.”

“No, but I think it best that I’m not introduced to more high lords than is necessary,” she said.

“You could visit the training yard,” Naerys suggested. “There are bound to be other men-at-arms looking for a spar.”

“Perhaps,” Keladry said.

“Well, as far as anyone here knows you were accused of entering the joust at Harrenhal under false pretences and of being a woman,” Steve said. “The accuser was discredited as a liar and thrown out, so no one should look closer and realise that it was the false pretences part that was addressed and not the being a woman part.”

“I am sure that will hold up before the lord’s court,” Keladry said, but there was a hint of sarcasm to her voice.

Robin and Lyanna stuck their heads in, having finished inspecting their own room. “We got everything we needed from the wagon into the rooms,” she reported.

“What about the gifts?” Steve asked.

“They’re all in your room,” Robin said.

“Do you think you could get the makeup remover set aside? I want to give that to Ned before the proper gift giving,” Steve said.

“Don’t want to present it before all the assembled nobles?” Naerys teased.

“I’m not sure they’d appreciate the joke,” Steve said, rolling his eyes.

“What would you have of us while you’re giving Lord Stark his gift?” Lyanna asked.

“Your day is your own,” Steve said. He gave them a look. “Just don’t get up to anything that we’d have to have a Talk about afterwards.”

The kids held back a cringe, heads bobbing as they nodded their assent. “We’ll behave,” Robin said.

“If you pass by the stables, tell Toby where we’re roomed,” Naerys said, hiding her amusement.

“Yes Naerys,” they both said, and then they were gone, fleeing the room.

Steve shook his head, smiling. “Well, off to see the Lord of the castle then.”

X

Lord Tully was once a broad and strong man, with cheerful blue eyes and brown hair. The cheerful eyes remained, but the hair had begun to grey and the strong frame was beginning to go to seed. Despite this, he was still a powerful figure, and people listened when he spoke as he held an informal court in one of the halls of Riverrun. Many of the men with him were on the older side, and Steve was put to mind of some of the drinking sessions he’d been a part of at the VA.

Steve’s entrance did not go unnoticed, and while they didn’t pause in their stories or their drinking, many watched him as he approached the head of the hall where Hoster and several other lords sat. When he reached his destination he came to a stop, Naerys at his back, as he waited for Lord Tully to finish his conversation.

Steve could tell his approach had been noted, but still Tully did not hurry to end his conversation with the older man to his right. He waited, well aware of when someone was taking his measure. After several long moments, the lord finally turned to look at him, an expectant look on his face.

“Lord Tully,” Steve said. “I wanted to thank you for your hospitality. My companions and I just arrived.”

“My table is bountiful, and I am eager to share with all who would come to celebrate my daughter’s happiness,” Tully said. He had been drinking for a few hours at least, going by the red in his cheeks. “Does my guest have a name?”

“Steve Rogers,” he said, before adding, “Lord America.”

“Ah, my future goodson’s guest,” Tully said. “Well, I am Hoster Tully, Lord Tully, and this is my castle. What do you think of it so far, eh?”

“It wouldn’t be easy to take,” Steve said. “Any proper siege would be vulnerable to an outside force. I’d want to infiltrate and seize the gate, or have a way of compelling the surrender of the defenders.” He coughed, aware that that probably wasn’t what the man had been asking. “But I have felt very welcome since my arrival.”

After a moment, Hoster laughed. “Well, it’s no Bloody Gate but the Red Fork and Tumblestone serve us well.” He nudged the man next to him as he spoke.

“Few fortifications are,” the older man said dryly. His hair might have been blond once, but had long since greyed.

“I understand you did quite well for yourself at Harrenhal,” Hoster said.

“I can’t complain,” Steve said.

Laughter came from other parts of the room, the other men obviously listening in.

“‘Can’t complain’ he says,” Hoster said, shaking his head. “If I’d put Ser Barristan in the dirt you wouldn’t be able to make me shut up about it.”

“Forget besting the Bold, we still can’t make you shut up about that one whore on Bloodstone,” another man called out. He looked similar enough to Hoster that they could be brothers.

Hoster shook his fist at the man, but the jeers of the other middle aged and old men were well received. “As you can see, there’s naught here but a bunch of old men reliving the glory days of the war against the Ninepenny Kings,” he said.

“I know how it goes,” Steve said.

“Well, I won’t demand you stay and listen to our stories,” Hoster said. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do now that you’ve paid your respects.”

Steve inclined his head, taking the dismissal for what it was. Lord Tully had already returned to his previous conversation as he turned and made his way from the hall, Naerys still at his side.

X

When Steve and Naerys found Ned, they also found Ashara, which didn’t surprise them. The pair were walking through the castle godswood, taking in the flowers as they strolled along the stream that ran through it. It was almost a shame to intrude on them.

“Ned,” Steve called as they neared. “Lady Ashara.”

The kids startled, apparently entirely unaware of their approach, so wrapped up in each other they were.

“Ser Steve,” Ned said, one arm wrapped around Ashara. He visibly decided against offering his hand to Steve, unwilling to remove it. “Lady Naerys.”

Naerys gave them a small curtsey.

“Steve, Naerys,” Ashara said. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Well, I was promised an invite to the wedding over tea,” Steve said, smirking. “I had to collect.”

Ned smothered a groan as he remembered the day and his loose tongue.

“We would have invited you even if you had not extracted such a promise,” Ashara said.

“How have you been, since the tournament?” Naerys asked.

“Wonderful,” Ashara said. “I’ve been getting to know Ned’s family.”

“Meeting the in-laws is always a treat,” Steve said, only slightly sarcastic.

“In-laws?” Ned asked.

“Uh, the family of the one you marry.”

“Oh, you mean to say the goodfamily,” Ashara said. The couple began to walk along the stream, wordlessly inviting Steve and Naerys to follow.

“That’s it,” Steve said. “When will your family be coming?”

“Soon, I hope,” Ashara said. She sighed. “My brothers both have responsibilities they cannot easily escape, and my sister is too young to travel alone. I hope at least one of them will come.”

“The Riverlands is as good a compromise as any on location,” Naerys said. At Steve’s questioning look, she explained. “Winterfell is far to the north, Starfall far to the south.”

“You could always delay the wedding,” Steve said, as he took in the butterflies amongst the flowers. “It’s not like either of you will change your minds.”

“We are quite eager to marry,” Ashara said. “My brothers will face the same issues in a moon as they do now.”

“And my family is even harder to gather in one place,” Ned added. “We’re going to seize the opportunity we have and marry here.”

Steve gave them a sideways look. Their answers had the ring of rehearsal about them. “Fair enough,” he said.

“Don’t forget the thing,” Naerys said, bumping him with her shoulder.

“Oh, right.” He dug into his pocket, retrieving the small wooden box he’d stashed within. “A gift for you, Ned.”

Ned accepted the gift. “Thank you, Steve.” He opened the latch on the box, and took in its contents. A puzzled smile crossed his face. “I, thank you?” He glanced at Ashara. “Did you perhaps mix up our gifts?”

Ashara groaned suddenly.

“Not that I am ungrateful,” he hurried to add.

“No, Ned,” Ashara said. “It’s a kit for makeup removal.”

“Makeup removal?”

“You know,” Steve said. “Like lipstick.” A smirk crept across his face.

Ned closed his eyes slowly, looking pained.

“Steve told me the story,” Naerys said to Ashara, who was covering her face. “Tell me, how was it to be found out in such a way?”

“There are worse ways, I suppose,” Ashara said, but she was smiling.

“Thank you,” Ned said, closing the box and tucking it away. “Your gift is most appreciated.”

“We got you some proper gifts too,” Steve said. “But I thought it’d be better to give you this one in private.”

“You cannot tell Brandon or Robert,” Ned said.

“Would I do something like that?” Steve asked.

“Yes.”

Steve held his hands up at the three answers, warding them off, and they continued to talk about nothing consequential as they walked. The godswood wasn’t enormous, but it was large enough to do a good circuit in, and they enjoyed the ambiance as they walked and talked, getting to know each other more than what their short but meaningful interactions at Harrenhal could achieve.

It was as they began to think of departing the gardens that another couple made their entrance, having similar thoughts as to its suitability as a courting venue. This couple was not quite so serene as Ned and Ashara, however.

“You are a fool, Baratheon,” a familiar female voice railed.

“And your head is up in the clouds Lyanna,” the man, Robert, said. “Surely you can see the truth of the matter. Men and women are just built differently.”

“You’re such a southron,” Lyanna said. “I wager you cannot even see why I take offence to your words.”

Their voices grew closer, and Steve glanced at Ned. He looked exasperated, but not surprised.

“Has this happened often?” Naerys asked Ashara.

“They have very strong personalities,” Ashara said diplomatically.

“It’s got nothing to do with north and south,” Robert said.

They came into sight now, and they were less out for a stroll in the godswood than striding angrily through it.

“Then please, explain it to my delicate womanly sensibilities,” Lyanna said.

“I would defeat you in any joust,” Robert argued. “My lance arm is much stronger.”

“The size of your arm isn’t everything,” Lyanna retorted. “I could ride circles around you.”

“That doesn’t matter if you can’t take a blow from my lance,” Robert said as they neared, but his focus was entirely on Lyanna and he did not see them.

Lyanna did, and her face lit up. “Ned! Talk some sense into your friend. Hello Ashara.” Her gaze shifted to Steve and Naerys. “Oh, Lord America, Lady Naerys.”

“Lady Stark,” Naerys said, curtseying. “Lord Baratheon.”

“I’m not the one who needs sense talked into them,” Robert said. “Rogers, you didn’t joust, but you sat me down in the melee. How do I explain to Lyanna that men are the ones to fight for a reason?”

“Ehhh,” Steve said, drawing it out. “It depends on how you mean it.”

The arguing couple were both staring at him now, eyes narrowed.

“Let’s hear it then,” Lyanna said.

“Well, you’d lose if you tried to arm wrestle him,” Steve said. “But I bet you could balance on the toes of one foot for longer.”

“That’s hardly a fight though,” Robert said.

“What do you call a fight then?” Steve asked.

“Two men meeting on the field of battle,” Robert said. “The one who walks away, the stronger warrior.”

“Alright. What if the other fighter was waiting for you in your tent the night before the battle and cut your throat before you realised she was there?”

“An assassin isn’t a warrior,” Lyanna said.

“Does it matter? You’ve still got a cut throat,” Steve said.

“It’s not the same,” Lyanna insisted.

“A battlefield, a real battlefield, is a place for men,” Robert said.

Lyanna abruptly realised she was supposed to be arguing against Robert.

“Why?” Steve asked. “Because men are bigger and stronger?”

“Well, yes,” Robert said.

“You’ve never taken down someone bigger and stronger than yourself?”

“Not the same kind of difference between a man my size and a woman Lyanna’s,” Robert said.

“I’ve been sat on my rear by a woman Lyanna’s size,” Steve said.

Robert stared at him, unwilling to accept his word. “You jest.”

“Skill does a lot to bridge the gap that brute strength gives you,” Steve said. “She could have snapped my neck between her thighs if she’d gotten the drop on me.”

An unwilling snort escaped Robert.

Steve gave him a look. “My point is, you can’t just point at men and say they’re better fighters because they’re bigger and stronger. I could pick Natasha up with one hand, but if she’d been my enemy, I’d probably be dead.”

“Poison isn’t the same,” Robert said, but he was less invested.

“Poison wasn’t her only option,” Steve said. “The things I saw her do…” he shook his head, thinking about the Battle of New York and the way he’d launched her off his shield into the air. “She was a better killer than I was.”

“But you don’t think a woman could stand on a proper battlefield,” Lyanna said. She looked dissatisfied with him.

“I know they can stand on a ‘proper’ battlefield because I’ve seen them do it,” Steve said. “It’s not about the size of your arm, it’s about your depth of skill. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

Lyanna turned on Robert, victorious, but he was shaking his head.

“I still don’t agree that women should be on the battlefield,” he said. “It’s not safe. They don’t receive near the training the men do, and they face dangers we don’t.”

“Maybe if we did get that training those dangers wouldn’t be so dangerous,” Lyanna said, driving her finger into his chest.

“I would always protect you from any - danger,” Robert said, looking outraged.

Lyanna let out a sound of furious disgust, and the argument continued on.

Steve glanced to the others. Ned looked resigned, but Ashara and Naerys seemed entertained, heads following the volleys back and forth.

“You know, there’s an easy way to settle this,” Steve said.

“There is,” Lyanna said, turning her gaze on her betrothed.

Robert took an instant to figure it out. “Oh no you don’t,” he said. “Your father would have my head.”

“Maybe you’re just afraid I’ll have your head,” Lyanna said. “You’re not a coward, are you Baratheon?”

Robert’s nostrils flared, and his gaze darkened, but it wasn’t with anger. “Get our horses,” he said. “I’ll fetch lances and armour.”

They both strode off, not bothering to say goodbye.

“They will have a most passionate marriage,” Ashara said, “if one of them doesn’t kill the other first.”

Steve couldn’t help but agree.

X

The feast that night was not notable beyond the fact that it was somewhere new. The food was much like that of Harrenhal, and the arrangement of tables similar to the Red Keep, with a high table at the head of the hall and two rows of tables running its length. Hoster Tully sat in pride of place, his daughters on either side of him. Brandon sat next to the young woman who must be his betrothed from the looks they gave each other, and a young boy who shared the same auburn hair sat with the other, while Ned and Ashara sat together, as did Robert and Lyanna. The man who Steve had guessed to be Hoster’s brother was there too, as was the older man he had joked with when he had paid his respects.

Steve and Naerys weren’t seated anywhere near the high table, guided to a spot just short of halfway down the hall. Robin and Lyanna were seated at the tables by the door, while Toby had either decided to keep Keladry company or been judged too much of a troublemaker to attend without her.

It seemed that Steve’s martial reputation had spread, as those they were seated with were eager to discuss the details of the melee with him, sharing this or that insight they’d observed. A few even asked about his strange armour, and if the rumours that it had been made by a Stark were true. All due respect was shown to Naerys too. It seemed that it wasn’t only his reputation that had spread, but judging by the beatific smile on her face, she wasn’t complaining about it.

People watching occupied much of Steve’s attention, even as he engaged in polite conversation with his neighbours. Some people were more interesting to watch than others, such as Robert and Lyanna, Robert deep in thought while Lyanna was almost palpably pleased with herself over something.

“- they’re not wasting any time in swearing their vows, if you know what I mean,” a nearby woman said.

“No,” her friend said with scandalised delight.

“Yes.”

“I suppose I can’t blame them for putting themselves in that situation. So young, and away from proper supervision.” The woman was attempting to sound disapproving.

“The young man is at least doing right by her. Not all would.”

“Were I a man, I’d do right by her too.”

Tittering followed, and Steve turned his attention elsewhere. He couldn’t help but notice that of the two sisters at the high table, the younger looked wan and withdrawn, isolated at the near centre of the table. He hoped she would overcome whatever ailed her.

Because he was watching the high table, he saw as a servant emerged from a side entrance and hurry to Hoster’s side. He watched as the lord’s laughing face stilled as the servant whispered in his ear, the man paling rapidly to match his daughter. He got to his feet, and Steve would bet it was without thought, the man’s mind miles away.

Whatever the reason, the hall was not blind to the lord of the castle rising, and the good natured roar of the hall faded away in respect, as many turned to face him. It was due to this growing quiet that when the door to the hall creaked open, many heard and glanced at the ones unfortunate enough to enter just when the Lord Tully surely intended to give a speech, and it was due to the men who walked through it that their gazes stayed there, fixed upon them.

Two men walked through the hall, approaching the high table. Every eye followed them, until at last they reached the head of the hall. Their armour, one black and one white, seemed to drink in the light and reflect it back.

“Forgive my unannounced arrival, Lord Tully,” Rhaegar Targaryen said, voice pitched so that all could hear him. “I simply could not allow my sworn sword to miss the wedding of his sister.”

Belatedly, all seemed to realise that they should rise in the presence of their Prince. A wave of motion flowed through the hall as all stood and bowed.

“Please,” Rhaegar said, raising a hand, as if warding off their bows. “This is a feast in honour of the soon to be Lady Stark. Do not let my presence distract from that.”

“Your Grace, you honour us,” Hoster said, having regained his wits. As he spoke, servants were hustling out like soldiers under fire, adding a table to one end of the high table and shuffling everyone on Lord Tully’s left down two spaces. “You and Ser Dayne are of course welcome at my table.” His younger daughter, who had looked so wan, now couldn’t decide which of the two newcomers to keep her eyes on.

Not all looked so pleased, as the Prince and his Kingsguard took their seats at the high table. An ugly look flitted across Brandon’s face, and Steve’s eyes could see the white knuckled grip that Robert held his goblet with. Ned’s blank face could have given Keladry’s a run for her money, but Ashara had taken his hand in hers as she exchanged greetings with her brother. Stiltedly at first, the hall returned to its previous chatter as the Prince spoke with the lord of the castle, a charming smile on his face.

“Well,” Steve said quietly. “That’s something.”

Naerys made a noise of agreement, but otherwise held her tongue. All around them, furtive glances were sent at the high table, new fodder for gossip having been served up on a platter. All in the hall wondered what could have brought the Prince here so unexpectedly, and with only a single sword to guard him.

Steve turned back to his meal. Whatever was afoot, all he could do was look out for him and his.

X x X

The day before the wedding, rain threatened, but promised to clear as dawn broke. Steve spent the morning putting the finishing touches on his gift to Ned and Ashara, quietly pleased with his efforts. It had been a long time since he had seriously worked with paints, a brief dalliance after thawing notwithstanding, but he thought he had captured the moment well. It wasn’t in the same style as any of the local paintings he’d seen, but he hoped they’d appreciate it. It was as he was adding his signature to the corner that there was a knock on the door.

“Just a sec,” Steve called. He placed his brush on the stand and turned it away from the door, before going to answer it.

A servant waited on the other side. “Lord America, an invitation has been extended to you by lord Eddard Stark. He asks that you be party to his farewell to his —---------.”

“His what?” Steve asked at the unknown word.

“The end of his single days,” the servant said. He had a very stiff bearing.

“Ah,” Steve said. Bachelorhood. So this would be a stag party. “Where’s the party?”

“They gather in the courtyard,” the servant said. “Lord Brandon is likewise making his own farewells.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Steve gave the servant his thanks, sending him on his way, and took in the old clothes he’d been painting in. He should probably wear something a bit nicer. Several minutes later, he was knocking on Naerys’ door.

The door opened a crack, Naerys peering through, and she smiled when she saw it was him, opening the door wider. “Steve, what brings you to my chambers?”

Steve kept his eyes on hers and above the sleeping shift she wore. She must have picked it up in Braavos. “I’ve been invited to the Starks’ bachelor party. Is there anything I should know about that sort of thing?”

“I’ve never had the pleasure,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “Everyone there will likely be a higher social rank than you, so keep that in mind.”

“But otherwise, have a good time?” Steve asked.

“Try to avoid drinking so much that you’ll be hungover for the weddings,” Naerys said. “But yes, have a good time.”

“I don’t think there’s enough alcohol in the castle for that,” Steve said. “Let the others know that the day is theirs?”

“I will, Steve,” Naerys said. He turned and left, and she leant against the door as she watched him walk away, observing the fine make of his pants. She closed the door, and the sound of the lock was loud in the empty hall.

X

The courtyard was host to a small crowd of men, young and old, but nobles all. Some Steve recognised, but many he didn’t. He was about to approach Ned, when he was recognised in turn.

“Rogers!”

The call came from Brandon Stark, at the centre of a small scrum of young men. He gestured for Steve to join them, and he did. There were four other young men with him, as well as the young Tully boy Steve had seen at the feast the night before.

“Stark,” Steve said. “How’ve you been?”

“Well,” Brandon said. “I wanted to introduce you to someone. Father,” he said, calling to a nearby group of older men, with more grey in their hair than not. “This is Steve Rogers, Lord America. Steve, this is my father, Lord Rickard Stark.”

Steve offered his arm and the older man who approached took it, taking the measure of him. It was clear where Ned and Brandon got their looks from.

“You’re the one who gave my Ned the kick in the pants he needed to approach his lady then,” Rickard said. He spoke quietly, akin to a large man walking softly.

“He would have managed it himself, I’m sure,” Steve said.

Rickard gave a hmm, turning his stern gaze on his son. “You’d best get this little outing started soon, son. We old folk are starting to get thirsty.”

“Don’t you old folk still have tasks to see to?” Brandon asked.

“What do you think we were doing this morning before the sun rose?” Rickard asked.

Brandon cursed under his breath. “Age and treachery then.”

“Superior to youth and skill any day,” Rickard said, smirking. “I’ll let my fellows know you’re ready to start.” He returned to the group of older men he had come from, and they laughed at something he said. Hoster Tully was amongst them, as was his probable brother, and the older man who had been with them when Steve had spoken with him.

“Right, before we start,” Brandon said. “Steve, these are my friends Kyle Royce, Elbert Arryn, and Jeffory Mallister, my squire Ethan Glover, and this little scamp is my soon to be goodbrother, Edmure Tully. Lads, this is Steve Rogers, who you saw best Barristan the Bold at Harrenhal.”

“Fellas,” Steve said. He received a round of acknowledgments in return, but the group clearly had other things on their mind, fired up in the way only young men before some kind of game could be.

“Ned is over there with Robert and Dayne, and I’m sure you’ll get to know the rest over the day as we’ve got more important matters to see to now,” Brandon said quickly, before turning. “Alright you old bastards!” he fairly roared at the group including his father and soon to be goodfather. “Where’d you hide it?”

Far from being censured for his disrespect, he received jeers from the older men.

“Doesn’t bode well for the wedding night,” one shouted back, “if his eyes can’t find a bottle of booze I pity his wife.”

“Blow it out your arse Brynden,” Brandon said, grinning widely. “It’s in the courtyard, then.”

“Maybe,” Brynden said. He was a grizzled man of about forty, but was still clearly full of vim and vigor. “Maybe not. Maybe we drank it already.”

As the two men continued to banter to the amusement of the yard, Steve leaned over to one of Brandon’s friends. “What’s the idea here?”

“Our elders have hidden alcohol around the keep,” Jeffory Mallister said in reply. He was a lean young man, with brown hair and three day stubble on his cheeks. “If we want to drink today, we have to find and retrieve it.”

“And all you’ve got to go on is that the elders hid it this morning?” Steve asked.

“Aye,” Jeffory said. “That, and they’ll have put it in a bugger of a place to get at.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Elbert Arryn said, overhearing them. He had blond hair and a strong jaw. “At Denys and Lorra’s wedding, Uncle Jon tied one to the saddle of his wildest horse. Took us so long to catch it we nearly sobered up.”

The crowd in the courtyard had begun to spread out some, at least on the younger side as they looked about here and there where a bottle of wine or ale might be hiding. The older portion were content to watch, calling out misleading advice and conflicting reasonings on where it might be. They stayed in one corner of the yard, below a flagpole that bore the Tully banner.

Steve paused as he looked around the yard, eyes returning to the flagpole. If he was an ornery old man who wanted to see a bunch of young punks struggle for a prize…his gaze trailed up the pole, up to the banner and the lump under it that he could just make out. “Hey, Brandon,” he said.

Brandon turned from where he and a few others were unstacking a small pyramid of barrels that had no cause to be where they were sat. “What is it?”

“Does that banner look like it’s hiding a bottle behind it?”

Slowly, Brandon’s gaze traced the same path Steve’s had, and he saw the same thing. He pulled a face, looking back at the half dozen full barrels they had already shifted, and then at the older men who were watching with grins on their faces. “You cunning old bastards,” he said.

“So you found my little hiding spot,” Hoster said. “Now how are you going to get it down?”

Robert had been helping with the barrels, and he sat one down with a heavy thunk. “Easily, that’s how,” he boasted. “On my first attempt, too!”

“Show us how it’s done then,” the old man that Steve had seen a few times now said. After having met Elbert, he could see a bit of a family resemblance.

“Oh I’ll show you alright Jon,” Robert said, as he approached the banner. “And then I’ll drink it all in front of you.” He took a running start, pulling himself up the pole with great reaches, shoulders flexing. He was halfway up and making it look easy, and then it all went wrong. His next grasp failed to hold, and he slid down suddenly, giving a startled shout.

“What happened Robert?” Jon asked. “I thought you said the first attempt.”

“A greased pole,” Robert said, trying to fume, but fighting to hide a smile. “Of all the dishonourable tricks.”

“We’re waiting boys,” Rickard said. “Worked up a mighty thirst hiding all these bottles away this morning.”

The young men of the yard grumbled as they considered the problem, ignoring the taunting of their elders.

Steve’s eye had been caught by the kid amongst them, almost trailing behind Brandon and hanging on every word. An idea occurred to him, and he smirked. “I don’t know if that thirst is deserved,” he called out. “I think young Edmure will get it with ease.”

Edmure froze on the spot as eyes turned towards him, but he stood his ground.

“My son is a fine lad,” Hoster said. “But I’m not sure he’s got a stronger arm than that lunk of a stormlord there.”

The courtyard again fell to good natured insults, but all seemed willing to give the kid a chance. Steve beckoned to Edmure, and the boy approached.

“I can’t climb that pole,” he whispered urgently, blue eyes darting around. “I’ve only just started my training.”

“Don’t worry about the size of your arms,” Steve said, leaning down to him. “Think for a moment. Do you suppose the old men climbed up to put it there?”

“Uncle Brynden could have,” Edmure said.

“But do you think he would have, if he didn’t have to?”

Edmure shook his head slowly.

“You see that rope tied to the base of the pole?” Steve asked.

“Yes, it’s to keep the banner fasten - wait, that’s not the one holding the banner,” Edmure said.

Steve watched as realisation dawned on the kid’s face. “You know what you have to do?”

Edmure nodded, determination on his face. “I do Ser.”

“Then go on and show those old men that it’s not just your strength of arm that matters.”

Setting himself, Edmure approached the banner pole. Cries of anticipation came as he neared, the older folk parting for him. When instead of climbing, he knelt, they fell quiet, and all watched as he worked at the knot holding the rope taut to the pole. His shoulders hunched in on themselves at the attention, but he quickly had the rope undone, and he fed it upwards. The bottle descended in near silence. He took it in hand and turned to face the courtyard.

“I did it,” Edmure said, just a hint of a shake in his voice.

No one said anything, and for a horrible moment Steve thought he’d made a terrible faux pas. Then Brandon began to laugh.

“Edmure Tully!” Brandon shouted. “A victory for youth and skill!” He hoisted the kid up on his shoulder, and the boy looked like all his Christmases had come at once as the other young men in the yard joined in cheering him.

The older men jeered and waved the deed off, but Hoster and Brynden both had clear looks of pride on their faces.

The cork was popped from the bottle, and held up for Edmure to take a sip from. He looked delighted, until he tasted it. He stuck his tongue out, a look of disgust on his face, to much laughter.

“Maybe in a few years,” Brandon laughed.

“Probably for the best,” Hoster said, “or my daughters would have words for us.”

“Lord America,” Edmure said, holding the bottle out to him. “You should have it, for giving me the idea.”

“I just pointed you in the right direction kid,” Steve said. “You puzzled it out on your own.” He accepted the bottle, and took a sip himself. A sweet white wine flowed over his tongue. It wasn’t bad.

At some unseen signal, several servants flowed into the courtyard, bringing with them more alcohol and handing it out to everyone. It wasn’t the same fine wine that Steve had, but from the looks on the others’ faces as they drank, they didn’t mind.

“That was a good thing you did,” Ned said as he approached quietly.

“It was an easy thing,” Steve said, shrugging. “Now the kid has a great memory of the day.”

“Even so,” Ned said. He looked out over the yard as the groups began to mingle, the banter and booze flowing. Robert was arm wrestling Ethan and Edmure at the same time.

“What comes next?” Steve asked.

“We drink until the bottles run dry, and then we seek out more,” Ned said.

“How long does this last for?” Steve said.

“Until we’re too drunk to rescue more bottles, or the ladies judge we’ve had enough,” Ned said, nodding towards one of the castle towers.

Steve could make out several ladies watching through a tower window, one pointing and gesturing at the men, goblet in hand.

“NED!” Robert roared, calling for his friend.

“Duty calls,” Ned said, smiling wryly.

They lingered in the courtyard for a time, drinking and sharing stories. Steve was content to listen, learning tales of the War of Ninepenny Kings and of what few tales the younger men had of clearing out bandits and brigands. Before long however, their bottles were dry.

“A decision!” Brandon called, drawing in their attention. “A decision we must make, on where to search next!”

“Jon was faffing about in the stables earlier,” Hoster said, with the air of a boy carrying tales.

“Don’t be bitter that your son outthought you,” Jon said. “I saw your brother taking a stroll around the river too.”

“Only because Rickard was loitering by the Water Gate,” Brynden said.

Rickard only smiled, saying nothing.

Brandon narrowed his eyes at his father, considering. “Elbert told me about the trials you put them through at your niece’s wedding,” he said to Jon. “We’re going to the stables before the day wears on.”

As a group, they left the courtyard behind, and Steve found himself walking beside Brynden. “I was wondering,” Steve said, as conversations were shouted and carried on around them. “I would have expected the Prince to be here for something like this.”

Brynden eyed him for a moment. “He was invited, as courtesy demands,” he said, “but he knew his presence would demand a certain level of manners that you don’t really want for this kind of thing, so he declined.”

“Good of him,” Steve said. He received a grunt in response, but then they were arriving at the stables. The group came to a stop as the young men saw what awaited them.

There would be no need to search the stables or go mucking through haystacks, because it was clear where the alcohol was ‘hidden’. Guarded was perhaps a better phrase, as in the centre of the stableyard was a bull with formidable horns, and on each of those horns dangled a wineskin.

Robert turned a baleful eye on Jon. “You said you weren’t angry about that thing in the place anymore.”

“This isn’t anger, Robert,” Jon said. “This is getting even.”

Robert grumbled to himself, even as Ned laughed at him.

“I wouldn’t fancy trying my luck with more drinks under my belt,” Arthur said to one side. “The beast has a mean look.”

Steve cast about for a rope, even as the others began to argue for the right to make the first attempt. If he didn’t have to wrestle the large bull he wouldn’t, and a lasso seemed the right tool for the job. Brandon’s squire, Ethan Glover, won the argument and began to size up the animal.

“Now, you’ll want to be careful here,” Jon said. “I was very particular about the attitude of the animal that I asked Hoster to provide, and he tells me he’s never seen such a beast as this.”

Ethan had ruddy brown hair, and the kind of patchy beard that was every young man’s first attempt at growing one. He started to sidle towards the animal, walking slowly as he approached it from one side.

“By the Seven, don’t do that!” Jon called urgently.

Ethan froze.

“Very particular this one is about being approached side on,” Jon continued. “Those horns would go right through you if he decided to toss his head.”

Inching around until he was in front of it, Ethan began to approach again, even slower this time. A hush fell over the stableyard. The only sound was the teenager’s boots in the dirt as Steve finished tying the loop of his lasso. Slowly, Ethan began to raise a hand.

“Oh, and whatever you do,” Jon said, again freezing the young man in place. “Don’t breathe on him. He hates that for some reason.”

Not daring to turn fully to look, Ethan glared at Jon from the corner of his eye. Nevertheless, he began to breathe out of the side of his mouth as he grew ever closer, hand raised. The bull eyed him mistrustfully. As he drew within arms reach, he seemed to stop breathing entirely, holding his breath as he reached for the loop of rope that hung from the beast’s horn. As he grasped it, the bull snorted, shaking its head, and Ethan tensed, ready to spring back, but it was only adjusting to the lack of weight on one side.

Every young spectator let out a sigh as the bull failed to react violently.

More confidently now, Ethan retrieved the second bottle. As he did so, the bull finally reacted…but not how they had expected. The young man looked down at the bull placidly chewing on his shirt. He sagged.

“Hoster,” Jon said, “didn’t I ask for your angriest bull?”

“No, you definitely said the calmest,” Hoster answered, smirking.

Disgusted shouts came from the youngsters, as they clapped Ethan on the back in congratulations and commiseration. Defiantly, Ethan opened one bottle and began to chug, staring Jon dead in the eye as he did. He received a wink for his troubles, and again servants began to hand out alcohol, all tension gone from the stableyard.

Noon approached as they drank and laughed. Steve found himself answering questions about his duel with Barristan, Arthur quizzing him with the focus only a master of the craft could muster as several others listened in. Ethan was holding court from atop the bull, apparently ignored by the animal as it chewed on some hay. In time though, their cups ran dry once more, and they moved on in search of more.

“The Water Gate calls, and whatever trial my father has decided to subject us to,” Brandon called, organising the men like a general. They trooped onwards, some less steady than they had been, following as they descended towards the lower bailey of the castle, following a staircase set into the keep wall.

Rather than a courtyard, this bailey was filled with water, an aquatic entrance to the castle that faced north. The aptly named Water Gate stood in a wall that was built in the Tumblestone river. A lowered portcullis blocked the exit.

“Father,” Ned said. He sounded disapproving.

“Yes son?” Rickard asked.

Ned stared pointedly upwards, to the top of the Water Gate. The others followed his gaze and saw what he had seen. A metal strut extended from the wall above the gate, and where might usually hang a lantern of some kind, now suspended a small keg above the water. Outraged muttering erupted amongst the young men. Even Edmure was giving his best scowl.

“If you wanted me completely sober for the wedding, you could have just said so,” Brandon grumbled.

“That’s up to you Brandon,” Rickard said. “Good luck with it.” He turned and made for a set of chairs that had been prepared, his fellows joining him, and they made themselves comfortable for the spectacle to come.

“Right,” Brandon said, as he turned to his friends. The youngsters huddled together as they began to plan. “Ideas?”

“It’s too high to reach from the water, even if we borrowed a boat,” Kyle Royce said. Steve could see the similarity to the man he had dueled in the melee final, Yohn Royce, in his sharp cheekbones.

“Maybe with a boathook,” Jeffory said, considering the keg.

“Throw a rope over the metal post, and pull yourself up?” Robert suggested.

“We should take a look at it from above,” Ned said.

It was judged a good idea, and soon they were all marching up to the top of the wall, following the stairs set into it. From above the fortification, they peered down to their prize.

“Seems even further away from up here,” Arthur remarked.

“Could lower a rope and sit astride the strut,” Elbert said. He glanced at Steve and noticed the lasso still on his belt. “What do you thi - Brandon don’t do it you daft basta –”

As they had been talking, Brandon had apparently tired of plans, and taken a few steps back from the edge. He launched himself off the wall, reaching for the keg. He laid a hand on it, but failed to hold it, the force of his fall too much. A moment later, he landed with a great splash.

Hooting and calls could be heard from their spectators.

“He’s going to get himself killed one day,” Elbert said, after he watched Brandon surface. “Was your brother always like this, Eddar - oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Now it was Ned who launched himself off the wall, reaching for the keg with both hands. For a moment, it seemed like he had succeeded in catching himself, but then his momentum reefed him off it as his body swung. He landed in the water a few feet from his brother.

There was a pause.

“Well then,” Robert said, and then he too jumped off. He didn’t even seem to try for the keg, simply jumping for the hell of it, and he landed with an enormous splash.

Ethan was next, making a half hearted grab for the keg as he fell past it, and landing flat on his belly with a tremendous smack. It didn’t take long for the rest to join, some coming closer to seizing the keg than others.

“Ashara and I used to make jumps like this into the Torrentine as children,” Arthur said, before he stepped off the wall, doing a flip on the way down and leaving Steve alone on the wall.

“Come Steve!” Brandon shouted from below. He’d hauled himself out of the water, and now stood dripping on the dock. “Show us your mettle!”

For a moment, Steve considered doing a cannonball into the water below, but then he considered the lasso. The rope had seemed strong enough as he made it, so he shook it out, and began to twirl.

He hooked the strut easily enough, and pulled on it to test it. Those below were watching now, many looking as if they didn’t want to believe what he was clearly about to attempt. Like it was just another day, he wrapped the rope around his hand, and stepped off the wall.

Steve fell in an arc, pulled across the wall by his own momentum, and then upwards, carried almost in a full circle. He twisted in midair, and landed on the strut, catlike. It couldn’t have been more than two inches wide, but he balanced on it easily. He pulled the keg up by the rope, and unlooped it.

“So,” Steve called out, “how mad would you fellas be if I just stayed up here to drink it all?”

“You get down here right now Rogers,” Robert shouted, breaking the spell that had fallen over the others.

“I’ve got all I need up here,” Steve said. “Why don’t you come join me, and I’ll share a drop?”

Robert gave a frustrated shout, much to the amusement of his elders, and he led the sodden pack of men back up the stairs to the top of the wall. Steve waited for them to be out of sight, their view of him blocked, before he slipped off the strut, falling into the water with hardly a splash.

He kicked out and surfaced quickly, next to the dock. By the time the other youngsters had reached the top of the wall, he was sitting down with the old men, offering them a drink from his keg.

“Mighty kind of you, Rogers,” Rickard said. “Was hard work getting that keg up there.”

“You did it in five minutes using a boat and a pole and you know it,” Brynden said.

“Like I said, hard work,” Rickard said.

The keg was passed around, each man taking a pull, just in time for the others to see what was going on. They booed the traitor, but took the chance to make the jump from the wall again. Edmure was particularly fearless, almost as if he had done it many times before. From the furrow of Hoster’s brows, Steve thought a stern talking to might be in his future.

Once more, servants brought forth more alcohol, and they passed the early afternoon drinking in the bailey as the shadow of the keep slowly crept across it. It became clear to Steve that this was a rare occasion for the young and old of different families to speak freely without need to censor themselves via etiquette, and to share stories and give advice that wouldn’t be appropriate in more normal settings. He heard tell of how to judge fairly by the King’s Laws, how to skirt them when honour demanded it, what to do when your wife was mad at you, and how to win her over again when her anger had faded. If he shared a few nuggets of wisdom that he thought a newly wed ought to know for their own health and pleasure, that was the business of none but those there that day.

When the bailey had fallen into shadow entirely, they moved on, out through the Water Gate as the portcullis was raised, the old men in a boat, the young swimming. The final hiding spot was revealed to them only after they had been carried downstream a ways, Brynden pointing out a raft anchored further upriver to the great consternation of the young. The current wasn’t impassable, though it was still strong, and Edmure tired himself out trying. He was pulled aboard the boat by his father, and it was Jeffory Mallister who got to the raft first. The afternoon was whiled away in the shade of the willows by the riverside, and there were none amongst the party who were anything but content when the day’s adventures came to an end.

They said their farewells when the sun began to set, a quiet evening ahead of them, and tomorrow, the weddings.

X x X

The sept was full, rank upon rank of nobles filling the seven sided building. Steve and Naerys were near the entrance, far from the centre of the ceremony, and things were cramped to say the least. A weasel faced man stepped on Naerys’ foot as he tried to get a better look at the couple at the marriage altar, between the statue of the Mother and the Father, and Steve glared at him. He stepped away, swallowing, and Steve put his arm around Naerys as a shield. She stepped closer, eager for the respite.

Even at the back of the chapel, his height let him see the important parts of the service. He watched as Catelyn Tully’s red and blue cloak was removed by her father, and as Brandon placed a grey cloak with a wolf stitched on it in its place. Words were exchanged, and then a chaste kiss, before the priest gave a blessing that Steve couldn’t quite make out. They newlyweds turned to the crowd, both smiling, and the crowd cheered. Steve thought that Hoster might have been smiling even harder than his daughter. He was certainly tearing up more.

The crowd shifted to make way for the couple as they began to exit the sept, and Steve almost picked Naerys up under his arm to make sure she wasn’t squashed. It took some time, but eventually the couple left, their guests following them in a procession. The noblest followed first, the prince escorting the sister of the bride, and all others followed.

Outside, it was a pleasant afternoon, with warm sunlight and a cool breeze. The castle was decorated just so, and every servant and guard to be seen was sharply pressed and polished to a shine. The procession led deeper into the castle, before splitting. Most made for the Great Hall, while the rest followed the bride and groom to the godswood. It was a short walk, but they took it slowly, appreciating the moment.

A hush fell over all who entered the godswood. It had not been decorated and prepared as the sept had, but it was holy all the same, and on this day, it could be felt in the air. The trees swayed in the wind, leaves rustling, and on the heartree, fresh sap seeped from the eyes of the face carved upon it. The shade seemed darker here, like it was closer to dusk than noon.

Ned stood by the heartree, waiting soberly in his furs. All those who had come spread out, surrounding the beating heart of the wood, standing as witness. Steve saw Robert and Lyanna standing together, across from the newlyweds, as well as Rickard, Jon, and Rhaegar, and also Brandon’s friends and dozens of others he didn’t recognise. He and Naerys found themselves much closer to the ceremony this time, but none seemed to mind. Things seemed to settle, and there was a moment where everything paused, even the trees.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this day?” Rickard asked of the woods.

“Ashara, of House Dayne, comes to be wed,” Arthur called as he approached, arm in arm with his sister. “A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

Ned spoke, eyes never leaving Ashara as she stopped beside him. “Eddard, of House Stark. Who gives her?”

“Arthur, of House Dayne, her brother and Sword of the Morning.”

“Lady Ashara, will you take this man?” Rickard asked.

“I take this man,” Ashara said, and her smile was radiant.

The couple joined hands, kneeling before the heartree, and they bowed their heads. Those witness bowed in kind, and the only noise was the creaking of the boughs of the heartree.

After a moment, the newlyweds rose, and Ned swept Ashara’s purple cloak from her shoulders, handing it to Arthur. He received a grey cloak from his sister, much like the one Brandon had placed on Catelyn, and placed it on the shoulders of his bride. As he leaned in, Ashara captured his lips in a kiss, and from the amused reaction of the crowd, Steve didn’t think that was part of the ceremony. As soon as the cloak was fastened, Ned swept his wife up in his arms, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

“How romantic,” Naerys sighed.

Steve noticed he still had his arm around her, and he swallowed, but didn’t take it away. “Yeah. How about that.” He thought about what could have been, but put it from his mind.

Ned fell in step with Brandon and Catelyn, still carrying Ashara, and all others followed them as they made for the Great Hall. Every great wedding needed a great feast, after all.

The feast was indeed great, tables laden down with a bounty that put every other feast Steve had seen in Westeros to shame. He’d seen richer tables at Tony’s dinners, but that was it. Seven courses were brought out by servants as orderly as any parade soldier, and even Steve was able to eat his fill. The cheer of the feast only grew as the afternoon went on, and he and Naerys enjoyed themselves without any need to see to any duties. It was not the same at the high table, as an apparently endless parade of nobles passed by to present gifts to one or both of the couples.

“Steve, try this,” Naerys said, handing him a delicate construction of spun sugar and honey.

He put down the remnants of the roast pork leg he had worked his way through and accepted it carefully. He broke off what might be a bird’s wing to eat, and felt it dissolve on his tongue. “Gosh that’s sweet.”

“I’ve never tasted anything like it,” Naerys said, the one she had taken for herself naught but crumbs already.

Steve broke off the other wing for himself, but handed the rest back to her. “Take mine. I can only have so much sweetness,” he lied.

Naerys smiled at him, licking sugar from her lips as she savoured the treat. She was distracted by something at the head of the hall. “I think I see Robin and Lyanna in line to present our gifts. We should join them.”

“After you,” Steve said.

Naerys rose from her seat, svelte dress billowing behind her. It was the same light purple as her eyes, and Steve followed, standing tall in his navy doublet. The stitching was done to resemble stars, and he felt more comfortable in it than he had in some of his clothes from back home. All those they passed on their way to the head of the hall were in good cheer, feasting and drinking to the health of the new couples.

They joined the line of nobles and servants easily, stepping up to Robin and Lyanna.

“We haven’t spoken much since we got here,” Steve said to them. “How have you two been doing?”

“Good,” Robin said. “Keladry has been wrangling Toby so we’ve been exploring.”

“The food is so good,” Lyanna said.

“I know,” Naerys said with a groan. “I’ll be spoiled for the road.” She frowned, glancing around furtively. “I thought this feast was nobility only.”

“It is,” Lyanna said with a grin. “I made friends with one of the cooks.”

Steve inspected the gifts they have bought in Braavos as they moved up the line. They were wrapped in cloth and tied with string, and he could tell which was which easily enough. The high table was host to the highest nobles in attendance, and Steve was at least passingly familiar with all of them. The two couples held pride of place, with family on the sides they were most connected to. He didn’t know if there was a particular order he should give them in, but it was too late to ask, so he decided to wing it.

“Lord America,” Brandon greeted him as they reached the guests of honour. “Lady Naerys.”

“Lord America, Lady Naerys,” Catelyn echoed him. Her hair was a rich auburn, and she had blue eyes and high cheekbones.

“Lord Stark,” Steve said. “Lady Stark. I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure yet.”

“Steve, please allow me to introduce my wife, Catelyn,” Brandon said. “Cat, you know of Steve, from the stories I told.”

“Congratulations,” Steve said. He left an opening for Naerys to speak, but she said nothing, so he continued. “I wanted to wish you the best in your marriage.”

“Thank you,” Catelyn said demurely.

“We picked up a few things while we were in Braavos for you, too,” Steve said.

Brandon leaned forward eagerly, and Steve accepted the first gift from Robin, handing it over.

It was unwrapped quickly, its lacquered box admired for a moment, before it too was opened to reveal the telescope inside, decorated with delicate gold filigree. Brandon held it this way and that, taking it in.

“Something you can keep an eye on the stars with, or the horizon,” Steve said. “Hopefully it’ll let you see trouble before it sees you.”

Brandon extended it and peered through, looking down the hall. He seemed well pleased. “I used to steal the maester’s. He’ll be relieved.”

Lyanna handed over a gift this time, and Naerys passed it to Catelyn. Finely detailed green glass was revealed when the cloth was pulled away, shaped to the form of a fish mid leap. Inside the bottle was a liquid, and Catelyn unscrewed the lid to sniff at it. “Oh, it’s heavenly,” she said, smiling.

“To remind you of home,” Naerys said.

“You went far for gifts as fine as these,” Brandon said. “You have my thanks.”

“Mine as well,” Catelyn said. Beside her, Hoster was nodding in approval.

“We’ve got one more, but it’s less a gift for you and more a gift for you to give,” Steve said. Apparently this was not the norm, as a few more eyes flicked their way, and the next noble in line stepped back from where they had been preparing to give their own gifts. He handed over the wrapped object to Catelyn, and she opened it carefully.

A plush wolf was revealed, whatever fur and hair had gone into it leaving it soft and light. It had clearly been crafted by an artisan’s hand.

“Oh!” Catelyn said, holding it close.

“For your kid, whenever they arrive,” Steve said.

“I - thank you, Lord America,” Catelyn said. She seemed touched in a way previous gifts hadn’t achieved.

“You’re welcome,” Steve said. “Best of luck to you both.” The noble giving gifts to Ned and Ashara finished talking with them, and they moved on.

Catelyn was still looking at the wolf, and was only brought back to herself by Brandon tapping her subtly on the shoulder as the next gift giver approached them.

“Lord Stark, Lady Stark,” Steve said, and Naerys echoed him.

“Lord Rogers, Lady Naerys,” Ned said, grinning widely.

“Steve, Naerys,” Ashara said. “I’m so pleased you could be here.”

“I couldn’t turn down an invitation like that,” Steve said, smirking at the personal joke.

Ned’s eye twitched, but Ashara lounged like a satisfied cat. “Few could,” she said.

“Ned suggested this gift, so if you don’t like it, blame him,” Steve said, handing it over to Ashara. Down the table a way, Robert snorted, obviously listening in.

“Any gift from my beloved, or such good friends, can only be appreciated,” Ashara said. She unwrapped it, revealing a twisting glass bottle, tinted purple. With the way the wooden cap was carved, it looked like a shooting star. She opened it, inhaling softly. “I love it, of course.”

Robin handed Steve the largest gift, and he passed it over to Ned. “Might need some space for this.”

Servants, lingering in the background and clearing gifts as they were given, stepped up to clear a space on the table.

The gift was placed down, and the strings on it pulled apart. As it was revealed, Ned’s brows shot up, and he wasn’t the only one.

“Is that a goldenheart bow?” Jon asked, two seats down.

“That’s what I’m told,” Steve said.

“This is a princely gift, Lord Rogers,” Rickard said, between Ashara and Jon.

“It’s only money,” Steve said, “and money is only worth the happiness it can bring.”

“Well said,” Rickard said, observing Steve.

Ned had found his voice. “I can’t thank you enough for this.”

“My ward has been eyeing it since Braavos,” Steve said, clapping Robin on the shoulder. “If it wasn’t a gift I suspect he would have disappeared to try it out a few times.”

Naerys held back a sigh beside him, and Steve realised he’d said something impolitic.

“You placed third in the archery at Harrenhal, yes?” Ned asked Robin. “Robin Longstride?”

“That’s right, my lord,” Robin said.

“You’ve an eye for quality, Lord Steve,” Jon said, looking between the bow and Robin.

“I just stumbled across it, really,” Steve said. “It’s good to hear you like it.”

“Benjen won’t let me rest until I let him try it out,” Ned said. “You’ll have to share the story of how you found it, some other time.”

“I did have one more gift,” Steve said.

“Not a toy wolf,” Ashara said, half disappointed.

“No, this is something I made myself,” Steve said, as he held the painting. A frame had been acquired for it, and rather than hand it over, Naerys stepped up to unwrap it for the viewing of all those at the table.

As the cloth fell away, an audible gasp rang out. Those before it were transfixed, drinking it in.

“My word,” Hoster said.

The other conversations at the table had ceased, and even the other gift givers were craning for a look.

Steve felt pretty good about their reactions, proud of his work. He had worked hard to capture the moment that Ashara and Ned had first met, and going by the slack jaws, he had managed it.

The painting was a moment frozen in time, taken from the side. On the left, Ned was striding across the dancefloor at Harrenhal, determination on his face, as well as a healthy dose of nerves. His face was calm, but he was betrayed by white knuckles and a slight stutter in his step that suggested he had just been pushed. On the right was Ashara, half turned away from her approaching suitor, but glancing back, intrigued. Behind them was a faceless crowd, and despite the action and activity suggested in the Hall, the couple could have been the only two people in the painting.

“The bow may have been princely,” Ned murmured, “but this is a kingly gift.”

“How did you paint such a thing?” Ashara asked, almost demanded. “I’ve never seen its like.”

“Before I was Lord America, I was an artist,” Steve said. “If people liked my work, I ate. If they didn’t…”

“Ample motivation,” Rickard said, eyes fixed on the painting like all others.

“Even as a Prince of the Realm,” a new voice spoke up, drawing attention down the table and to Rhaegar where he sat beside Hoster, “I have never seen such talent.”

“You’re too kind, Prince,” Steve said.

“If you were not a Lord, I would commission you at once,” Rhaegar said.

“I just like to draw and paint those close to me,” Steve said, waving it off.

“Then they are fortunate indeed, even more than one would think,” Ashara said, her gaze flicking over Naerys, Robin, and Lyanna.

“If you like it, that’s good enough for me,” Steve said.

“We’ll treasure it,” Ashara said firmly.

“A stand,” Ned said. “A stand, so it might be displayed for the rest of the evening.”

A servant hurried off, and another came to collect the painting, handling it like it was made of spun glass.

“I think I’ve held up the line long enough,” Steve said, looking over at those who had yet to give their gifts. “So I’ll give you my best wishes, and be on my way.”

“We will talk before you depart,” Ned said. “Steve - thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Steve said. He bowed to the table at large, and Naerys curtseyed, and then they left it behind, ripples of gossip following in their wake.

“I think that went well,” Steve murmured to Naerys, even as Robin and Lyanna split off to the servants’ exit.

“Well is understating it,” Naerys answered softly. “They’ll be talking about that gift for the rest of the night, and then carrying it with them afterwards.” She laughed quietly. “Those poor people in line after you. They’ll be lucky if their faces are remembered, let alone their gifts.”

As Steve and Naerys retook their seats, it seemed that her words would be true. The painting had been set on a stand behind Ned and Ashara, and the pair seemed constantly tempted to turn and stare. The gift had been well received indeed.

The feast carried on, even if it was mostly wine and talk at this stage, until it reached a point that Steve felt like it was waiting for a speech so the attendees could go home. Just as the high table seemed to be gathering themselves for some kind of announcement, something caught his eye though. A servant entered the hall and cut towards Lord Tully, out of step with the regimented style of his fellows, and bent to whisper in his ear. Hoster looked to Rhaegar beside him, but the Prince shook his head in denial. A frown crossed the lord’s face, and he gave a nod to the servant, who hurried off.

Barely a minute later, the doors to the Great Hall opened, and a man in fine clothing walked through, an honour guard of men in black and red at his back. Steve recognised him from the feast at the Red Keep.

“Presenting the Hand of the King, Lord Owen Merryweather!”

Chairs scraped as people turned to face the newcomer, some rising to bow, but many not.

“Lord Tully, I bid you greetings in the name of His Grace, King Aerys Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,” Owen said, projecting for the hall.

Steve wondered if it was typical for feasts to be interrupted in dramatic fashion.

“In the name of His Grace, be welcome,” Hoster answered, glancing swiftly at Rhaegar.

“I bring congratulations of the wedding of your daughter to Lord Brandon Stark, and the King’s best wishes to the happy couple,” Owen continued.

Brandon raised his goblet to the man.

“He also bids health and prosperity to Lord Eddard and Lady Ashara, sister of his most faithful Kingsguard, Arthur Dayne,” Owen said. “Likewise, he wishes well his cousin, Lord Baratheon, and gives his blessing to the betrothal between him and Lady Stark. It brings him hope to see so many of his subjects uniting together in friendship.”

Merryweather seemed to be working up to something, and the hall waited in anticipation.

“Such gestures of friendship and alliance have inspired His Grace, and he wishes to extend a hand in turn. I am pleased to announce the invitation of Lysa Tully, Elbert Arryn, Stannis Baratheon, and Lyanna Stark to court, in order to foster greater friendship between the kingdoms over which King Aerys presides.”

The entire hall was set aflutter at the announcement, looks of envy prominent. All around Steve could hear comments at their luck, at what an honour it was to be invited to court so publicly.

“His Grace is most generous,” Hoster answered. “I know my daughter would never let me hear the end of the matter should I deny her this.” He cast a fond eye over his younger daughter, who indeed was almost squirming with excitement in her seat.

Steve cast an eye over the other named guests. Elbert looked intrigued, but Lyanna already looked mutinous.

“I know the King will be pleased to hear that,” Owen said. “It will gladden him to know that a future of friendship and cooperation awaits his most loyal subjects.”

The pageantry over, Merryweather approached the high table, and spoke with the lords there. He handed over a scroll to each Hoster, Jon, Rickard, and Robert.

“I wonder who’ll burst through the doors next,” Steve said. “A pair of dancing bears?”

“That leviathan we encountered, back for revenge,” Naerys said.

Steve remembered the golden eye of the creature, and the unmistakable intelligence within it. He pulled a face. “I’d rather not run into something like that again if I can help it. Not in the water, at least.”

“Still, it’s not every day you receive a public invitation to court, direct from the King,” Naerys said.

“They’ll be pleased about it then?” Steve asked.

“Very much so,” Naerys said. “They might be Lord Paramounts or Wardens, but it’s still a prize to be fought over.”

“Isn’t court a bit, you know, cutthroat?” Steve asked.

“It is,” Naerys acknowledged, “but they’ll be under the protection of the King. That means something.”

Whatever discussion the Hand was having at the high table ended, and he was led out of the hall by a servant, his black clad guards following. Hoster rose to address the hall soon after he was gone.

“On that note,” Hoster called grandly, “there is but one more important task to address before the night is over.” He said no more, gaze sweeping over his guests, as if waiting for a response.

Robert obliged him with a bellow. “The bedding!”

Cheers came, and many echoed him. “The bedding! The bedding!”

“We’ve a pair of wolves here, and you know how wolves get when they’re on the hunt!” Elbert shouted.

“Brandon may have landed himself a fish, but she might knock him out of the boat if he doesn’t know how to finish the job!” another man yelled.

“Forget Brandon, you know Eddard will be seeing stars once Ashara has her way with him!”

“Bit hard to leave your man seeing stars when he’s mounting you like a bitch in heat!” a woman shouted, and she received hoots and hollers in response.

“Only if the quiet wolf knows how to use what the gods gave him! All that snow might leave a man’s sword frozen!”

“They call their sword Ice for a reason!”

“You know the ladies have a sheath to warm their blades in!”

Steve’s brows steadily rose as the once well mannered feast descended into cheek and raunchiness. He turned to Naerys, only to find her smiling, even as the comments only grew filthier. She eyed him, mischief on her mind.

“You’re no maiden, are you Steve? I know you chose the shield and hammer, but you can wield a sword, surely?”

Steve cast about for a witty reply, but nothing came to mind, the glint in her eyes distracting him. Naerys sensed his weakness, leaning in as if to better hear his answer. The movement and the cut of her dress highlighted her bosom, drawing his eye, and he realised his mouth was suddenly dry. He drained his goblet, jerking his gaze away.

Naerys gave a tinkling laugh, not even trying to hide the smirk she wore. She turned back to the front of the hall, victory in the set of her shoulders. Steve took the stay of execution for the mercy it was, and firmly looked away from the slope of her neck.

The two couples had removed themselves from behind their table now, and a scrum descended upon them. A man’s shirt was thrown into the air to feminine cheers. Steve watched in disbelief as the newlyweds were surrounded by the opposite gender and set upon, herded towards the exit, clothes stripped from them and left behind in their wake. Those who weren’t directly involved still called obscenities, giving bedroom advice useful and mocking, often at the same time. As they left the hall, Steve saw Ashara and Catelyn hoisted onto shoulders, each wearing only half a dress and their smalls, and by the looks of things, not even that for long.

“Well,” Steve mumbled to himself, wishing he had stronger alcohol on hand. “That’s certainly one way to start a marriage.”

X x X

Much of Riverrun spent the next day in a stupor. Few were those who rose before noon, and for that day at least the castle fell into that strange realm that can only be felt when there are no adults about and children find themselves lords of all they surveyed.

Come the afternoon, the castle saw some life return to it, some guests emerging to socialise, others in search of the hair of the dog that bit them. Very little was achieved that day, and the newlyweds made no appearance, acknowledged by many winks and nudges. Even the servants relaxed, granted a half day off in thanks for their efforts in the festivities.

Unburdened by any hangover, either due to measured intake of alcohol or biological contempt for its effects, Naerys and Steve caught the others up on the events of the weddings, telling of how the ceremony in the sept differed from that of the godswood, and of the reactions to their gifts. The kids seemed eager for any kind of stimulation, having been on their best behaviour and bored silly as a result. Even Keladry seemed to be tiring of the monotony, hiding away as she had been.

Rather than risk Toby growing dangerously bored, Steve set about preparing a way to keep his companions entertained the following day. A football scrimmage should be easy enough to sort out, he thought.

With the aid of a few servants, he snooped about the castle to find what he needed. As he did, word somehow got out of what he was planning, and he found himself confronted by Edmure and some of the children of the castle servants. In return for an invitation, the heir to the castle said, he would permit Steve the use of his ball, and show him the best place to kick it around.

Gravely, Steve accepted his offer, and sealed the deal with a handshake. The kids ran off to fulfil their end of the bargain, chattering excitedly, and Steve made for the armoury. In the time it took him to persuade the quartermaster to part with four spear shafts and two lengths of rope, word had somehow spread even further, and he found his progress being followed from afar by groups of young and not so young kids. There was little division amongst them, noble and common, as all seemed to have sniffed out the possibility of entertainment out from under the eyes of their parents.

A field just across the dry ditch outside the castle would serve as their field of battle, and by the time Steve had finished erecting a pair of goals out of the spear shafts, the ropes serving as the tops, any thoughts he’d had about this being a small game had been put to bed. Beyond the kids who had been drawn in, there were more than a few adults, some drawn by curiosity, others to watch their children, but some that looked to have every intention of joining in the fun themselves. There were even a number of guards who had taken it upon themselves to watch over the gathering.

“Alright,” Steve said, when all was ready. A small crowd of about three dozen was before him, his own kids included. “This game is called football. The aim is to get his ball,” he said, holding up Edmure’s ball before them, “into the goals at the other end of the field.” The ball was made of leather and seemed to hold its inflation well enough; he hoped it would survive what was to come. The crowd watched it, almost hypnotised. “There are some rules. You can only use your feet, and if your hands touch it, the other team gets the ball. There is absolutely no fighting, and if you push someone hard enough for them to fall over, they get the ball. Any questions?”

“What if you kick the ball into someone’s face all accidental like?” Toby asked.

“Then you’ve probably just given them the ball for free,” Steve said. Maybe he’d keep an eye on Toby. “Split yourselves into two teams, as evenly as possible, and we’ll start.”

A quick frenzy occurred, and at the end of it, there were two roughly even teams standing apart from each other. “Ok, on the left, you’re Team Blue. You guys, you’re Team Red. I’ll be the refe - the judge. When I call out, you stop and listen and follow my instructions.”

There was a flurry of nods.

Briefly, Steve considered giving them more rules, or forcing them to space out the game a bit, but by the eagerness he could see in them he knew it would all go out the window as soon as the game started.

“Ok. Have at it,” Steve said, and then he bounced the ball off the ground and high into the air.

Chaos instantly descended, every kid on the field swarming the ball as it came down, while the older players had the judgement to stand clear. It bounced off the head of one of the kids, angling downfield, and the scrum followed it. Things failed to get more organised from there.

For the next few hours, the field outside of Riverrun saw the first instance of football on the continent, the players running themselves ragged in pursuit of the ball. The goals themselves seemed forgotten entirely to start with, as most seemed more focused on keeping the ball away from anyone else, what with there being no easy way to tell who was on their team or against them. It wasn’t until the more excited players started to tire that the game slowed and spread out, and the goals were remembered.

The first goal was scored by a laundry woman, booting the ball mostly by accident to soar over everyone’s heads to bounce and roll into an undefended goal. Every player burst into cries and hollers, no matter the team, and the goal scorer raised her fists in delight.

“Might be smart for each team to have someone defending the goals,” Steve called. He was sweating lightly, but hadn’t had any trouble running up and down the field, keeping pace with the ball and an eye out for bad sportsmanship.

A quick discussion saw two small mobs split off from the main mob, guarding their goals like soldiers at the castle gates, and play resumed. By the end of the afternoon, the scrimmage almost looked something like an actual football game, the players adapting to the roles of the sport with some advice from Steve. As the sun began to set, the game came to an end as Robin and Edmure worked together to beat the opposing defenders with a quick pass to level the scores.

Tired and content players made their way from the field, spirits high and still talking excitedly. Edmure had reclaimed his ball, it having survived the day, and was already planning the next match with the ‘captain’ of the opposing team, the son of the captain of the guards.

Steve fell in with Keladry, the woman carrying an exhausted Toby on her back as they made their way over the moat. Nearby, Naerys chatted with some young ladies who had come to watch their children, while Robin and Lyanna carried one of the spear shafts between them, Dodger hanging from it by his jaws. He smiled, at peace. After the formality of the past few days, this had been just what he needed.

X x X

The Starks had been afforded luxurious quarters, befitting their status as rulers of the North. They shared a suite of rooms, so when Steve called upon them the next day to say his goodbyes, the servant who answered did not lead him to Ned, but to Rickard and Lyanna, as well as their guest.

“Prince Rhaegar,” Steve said, as he entered the sitting room they three were seated in. “Lord Stark, Lady Stark.”

“Lord America,” Rhaegar said, inclining his head.

“Lord America,” Rickard echoed him.

“Steve,” Lyanna said, her tone short. She seemed annoyed about something.

“I’m not interrupting anything here am I?” Steve asked, as he took an offered seat. The servant who had led him there quietly left the room.

“Not at all,” Rhaegar said. He had a bunch of grapes before him, idly picking them off one by one to eat. “I missed my chance to speak with you after your victory at Harrenhal, so I told my hosts that I would enjoy your company.”

Steve was suddenly reminded of the other notable event that had occurred at Harrenhal involving two of the people in the room. “Right, the melee.”

Rhaegar picked up on his reaction. “I had just finished making my apologies to Rickard,” he said. “I’m afraid I made something of a mess of things in crowning Lyanna. It was not my intention to do so, and in the heat of the moment I rather forgot how such an act would be seen by others.”

“I hope that El - Princess Elia accepted your apology too.”

Rhaegar’s gaze flicked to the Starks and back. “You’ve spoken with my wife?”

“I dropped in on Ashara and she happened to be visiting,” Steve said.

“Of course,” Rhaegar said. “They are dear companions to each other.” He plucked another grape from the stem and bit into it, juices bursting in his mouth. “Should you accept the invitation to court, I know you would get along famously with Elia,” he said to Lyanna. “She shares your same spirit.”

Lyanna looked very much like she wanted to pull a face, but for the company. “I am not terribly interested in spending more time in the South, Your Grace.”

“Have you not enjoyed yourself so far?” Rhaegar asked. “You acquitted yourself so well when you jousted, against Lord Baratheon.”

“I would dump him in the dirt again if I could stand to speak with him,” Lyanna said.

“I thought things had been going well with your betrothed,” Rhaegar said, frowning in concern.

“He made several comments that I am not well pleased by,” Lyanna said, glancing at her father. The man wore a genial mask, but he still quirked one eyebrow at her in warning. “I’m told such problems are expected in the early days, however.”

“Just so,” Rhaegar said. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Tap tap-tap-tap. “If you would be so miserable at court, I can speak to my father on your behalf,” he offered. “He wishes to forge ties, but that cannot be done if one is there against their will.”

Lyanna glanced at her father, and he inclined his head slightly. “I would appreciate that, Your Grace,” she said. “Another time, I should be glad, but I have been away from the North for too long.”

“I am sure my father will understand, but perhaps it might be best for your sons to linger in the South for a time, my lord,” Rhaegar said to Rickard. “I am sure the king will wish to extend an invitation to another Stark in turn.”

“Your family is most generous with the opportunity, my prince,” Rickard said. “I have business yet in the South that my sons would do well to witness.”

Rhaegar popped another grape into his mouth, well pleased. “Excellent. I do appreciate it when business is so agreeably concluded.”

“The pleasure is ours,” Rickard said. “We in the North have stood apart from the kingdoms for too long.”

“Tell me Lord Stark, where is that marvellous painting that Lord America gifted your son?” Rhaegar asked. “I had hoped to glimpse it in my visit.”

“I had it set up here, but my son and his wife stole it away to their quarters,” Rickard said, amused.

“A fine compliment,” Rhaegar said to Steve. “It would be gauche to ask of a Westerosi lord, but I must ask if you have painted any other works since your arrival on our shores.”

“I painted the Titan while we were in Braavos,” Steve said. “I think I’d like to paint the other wonders, too.”

“You could paint the Wall,” Lyanna said eagerly. “To see it brought to life in your style would be something special.”

“The Hightower of Oldtown would surely be worth inclusion,” Rhaegar said. “A man of your skill could do very well for himself in the time it would take to travel the length of Westeros.” He tilted his head, as if something had just occurred to him. “What do you plan to do, now that the weddings have come and gone?”

“Well, I gave my word to one of my wards that we’d do something for him,” Steve said. “But beyond that…I think a brief tour of Westeros could be interesting. I could paint the Wonders, or great castles and godswoods. Then Essos.”

“Many a young noble has toured the Free Cities,” Rhaegar said. “Should your reputation spread, your works could command a high price, and of more than coin.”

“My visit would not be for pleasure,” Steve said, “and the Slaver Cities will not be happy with me when I’m done.”

Rhaegar leaned back. “You have strong opinions of their so-called trade.”

“Very.”

“As should all right minded men of Westeros,” Rhaegar said. “I dream of what a truly united Westeros could do against the savagery across the Narrow Sea…” he trailed off, as if imagining, before shaking his head. “A pleasant dream.”

Steve made a noise of vague agreement and the conversation moved on, but Rickard was watching him, dark eyes considering. What he was looking for Steve didn’t know, but the man seemed to find it.

A short while later, a room leading deeper into the suites afforded to the Starks opened, and one of the newlywed couples emerged. Servants brought more chairs for Ned and Ashara as they joined the four of them.

“Your Grace,” they both said, before taking their seats.

“Lord Eddard, Lady Ashara,” Rhaegar said. “It is good to see you again.” His tone was teasing.

“The day of the weddings was tiring, and we were glad for the respite,” Ashara said, smiling in turn.

Steve could feel a vein of coldness in her despite her smile, but he didn’t think Rhaegar had noticed. Ned made no response, taking refuge in silence.

“Ser Steve means to visit the Wall,” Lyanna told her brother. “He means to paint it.”

Ned came alive at that. “Steve, I - we - cannot thank you enough for your generosity.”

“I’m sure I didn’t spend that much on you,” he said, slightly awkward.

“It’s not about the coin,” Rickard and Ned said together. Rickard nodded to his son, and Ned continued. “You’ve given us a memory that will last far beyond our own, to say nothing of the push onto the dance floor before that. Whatever fortune brought you to our shores, I am thankful. We owe you.” His gaze was intent, recalling the conversation they had had about Steve’s origins.

“Whatever holdfast we come to call our own, you and yours will have a spot at our table,” Ashara added.

“That’s mighty generous of you both,” Steve said.

“It’s warranted,” Ned said firmly.

“Lady Naerys is not with you today?” Ashara asked.

“She made friends with some of the ladies here for the wedding during the football match yesterday,” Steve said. “She wanted to see them again before we leave tomorrow.”

“I observed that,” Rhaegar said. “It was quite the spectacle. Wherever did you get the idea?”

“It’s a game, from a land near my homeland,” Steve said. “Seemed like a good way to keep the kids occupied while everyone was hungover.”

“Not many would think to include both noble and baseborn,” Rhaegar observed.

“Well, it’s more fun with numbers,” Steve said, non-committal. He didn’t think the prince would appreciate his thoughts on the feudal system.

“You’ll have to give her our best wishes,” Ashara said, picking up the conversation thread before Rhaegar had spoken.

“She asked me to give you the same, if she didn’t get the chance to speak with you before we leave,” Steve said.

“I wanted to speak with Keladry before you go,” Lyanna said, frowning.

“It seems Ser America is a trustworthy chaperone,” Rhaegar said. “Keladry is his sworn sword, yes?”

“He’s not a knight, just a minor noble,” Lyanna said. “But he can ride.”

“My daughter is ever enamoured of all things horseflesh,” Rickard said. It had the feel of a deflection.

“You should see my ward, Toby,” Steve said.

“He came in second in the Harrenhal horse race, did he not?” Ashara asked.

“It was an impressive ride, too…” Steve began, launching into the story of Toby’s great effort. Socialising with the nobility still seemed to have many invisible rules and pitfalls, but he was getting better. The rest of the visit passed well, and come the end, all left it at least satisfied, if not content.

Ned clasped his arm as he said his final farewells, and Ashara stole a brief hug, dropping propriety once the Prince was gone.

When next they met, the occasion would not be joyous.