Chapter 30 - What Makes a Hero? Lesson 1


Several gold cloaks, heavily armed and armored, showed up at his door, demanding that he come with them to the tourney grounds of the Red Keep by order of the King. And, of course, Ser Meryn Trant was among them. Old war memories resurfaced, as if he could feel the clutches of HYDRA closing in on him, until they told him the purpose for this forced summoning: a tourney, a tournament, a battle competition where he could flex his skills in front of that brat king. The itch of opportunity had landed perfected at his feet. He still didn't trust any of the King's Guard, but they had swords and arrows, not guns and high-tech weapons, and definitely no one possessing any supernatural capabilities. So, he complied, as long as he could change his clothes.

The breathable, flexible, star-spangled uniform surprisingly made him feel more like himself, even if he did get a lot of stares. With his mask-helmet on his head and his shield on his back, he marched with the men almost in sync, as if he was one of them, if not for the stark contrast between his sleek red, white, and blue colors clashing with the clanking, gold, black, and white armor. When they arrived at the tourney grounds, Ser Meryn was all too confident that the sight of the tourney grounds, muddy and bloody from past fights, jousts, and training, surrounded by an audience of judgmental royals would frighten him. But all Steve could envision was his training grounds at the Army.

The smell of the dirt, metal, and gunpowder. The sounds of the men attempting to humiliate him as he crawled underneath barbed wire carrying a backpack and a weapon two sizes too big for him at the time. The rhythmic chants as they ran through the grassy trails.

Ser Meryn Trant leaned in to disturb his vision. "You think you're some kind of hero? Going against the King? Let's see how well you do against real warriors," the child beater growled in his ear. Steve's gaze ascended to the elevated stands. At the best vantage point, sitting high on the stone wall, the brat king, wearing his golden horned crown, waited in a shady ornate tent. A malicious smile spread wide on his face. He'd seen that smile before when he was in Germany, after the war, after he came out of the ice. That black-haired Asgardian wore a golden horned crown and a sadistic smile too, only he could actually put up a fight. The only face he was nervous to see belonged to Sansa. She sat next to the brat king like a prisoner, all dolled up in a regal gown for his amusement. Despite the gold woven into her redheaded hairstyle, and jewelry around her neck, she looked absolutely miserable. Steve didn't understand why she was there. She wasn't like Peggy, unafraid to plant her feet and stand firm when many others wanted her to move, or Romanoff who could fool the sharpest of adversaries on charm alone. He feared she was far too innocent to witness a fight.

Before Ser Meryn Trant left him to return to Joffrey, he made one final attempt to elicit a reaction.

"Don't keep your King waiting," he warned. To his great disappointment, Steve Rogers took in a deep breath of satisfaction, readying himself for battle. Without ever gracing Ser Meryn with a glance, he said, "I don't serve kings, and if I did, he certainly wouldn't look like that." Then, he marched to the middle of the field, awaiting his first opponent. The Captain felt oddly at home.

One of the noblemen made an announcement, and a single contender in leather and steel appeared, wearing a metal helmet, holding a metal shield and a blade.

The spoiled lion cub crowned with deer-like antlers, observed his approach with disdain.

"This... this is your champion? He doesn't even have a sword... and what in the world is he wearing?" Joffrey scoffed in Sansa's ear. His precious crossbow lay idle at his side, a single bolt loaded and ready.

On the opposite side of the tourney grounds, peering over the edge of the high stone wall, Varys watched anxiously, hands clasped tightly together in front of him. Long draping sleeves covered them from sight. Next to him stood Brienne of Tarth, tall and resolute, gripping the edge of the stone wall. Tyrion rushed to Varys' side while Jaime rushed to Brienne's. Bron and Podrick were not too far behind.

"You... knew about this?" said Tyrion, catching his breath.

"Of course, I told Podrick to send for you," said Varys matter-of-factly, glancing over at the young squire, masking his own nervousness. Tyrion rolled his eyes and peered over the wall alongside Brienne and his brother.

"There better be a damn good reason why I was needed for this," growled Bron, but his sour attitude seemed to worsen when he caught sight of a man with very little armor, let alone clothes, holding nothing but a shield.

"If your little King wanted to share his perversions with the rest of us, he still could have done so in the comforts of a brothel. Then I wouldn't have had to leave!" he snarled, but his complaints went ignored by the other five who clung to the edge in great anticipation.

"Please, tell me you had nothing to do with this," Brienne whispered to Jaime, still looking out at the rectangular, walled-in field hopelessly. It gave the appearance of a glorified cage with Steve inside.

"I didn't..." he answered honestly.

A resounding horn cut through the air, met with thunderous cheers from the electrified crowd. Steve shifted his stance, bent his knees, and kept his trusty shield close. Lowering his head, he glared out from behind the protective mask, his piercing blue of his eyes holding an unwavering focus. His opponent, despite a nervous flinch, charged forward with determination, bringing a gleaming blade down upon him.

Steve's response was swift and precise. His Vibranium shield rose with a fluid grace, effortlessly blocking the descending blow. With his free hand, he delivered a rapid series of uppercuts to the man's shield, each strike forming a dent. The opponent stood stunned, dropping the damaged metal in a daze. Seizing the moment, Steve advanced forward, swiping his shield arm away, separating the man from his weapon. With the man wide open and confused, Steve slammed his Vibranium shield into his contender's helmet, sending the man to his knees before he crumpled face-first into the dirty arena floor. Joffrey's smug expression wavered, a flicker of doubt crossing his face, while Sansa watched eagerly.

The crowd's reaction was a tumultuous mix of cheers and boos, reflecting the divided sentiment surrounding this unexpected outcome. The instant defeat caught Bron's attention, and he joined the rest of the group at the edge of the stone wall, peering down at the swordless champion.

"What the..." Bron breathed, his voice trailing off in astonishment.

"Is this, a damn good reason?" said Tyrion, cleverly mocking his sellsword's previous words.

"Another!" commanded the brat king, and a new contender, one of the combatants from the chamber below, entered the arena. He gripped a massive hammer, its head adorned with menacing triangular teeth, in both hands. With a mighty swing, he attempted to crush Steve, but the sheer weight of the weapon slowed his movements. Rogers easily sidestepped out of the way.

Sansa clenched her dainty fist and held her breath. The contender swung again, only to miss a second time, catching the mud. With the hammer stuck, Steve sprinted forward, closing the gap between them. Swiftly he struck the contender's helmet with echoing crashes from his shield, making it ring like a bell before pushing him away with a forward kick.

Now the second opponent had succumbed to defeat with a thick slump to the ground. Brienne and Jaime watched in silent admiration and an odd sense of pride. Joffrey looked over at his bride-to-be and saw her eyes aglow with a small, half-smile of relief.

"Two more!" Joffrey ordered one of his servants. Another horn was blown, and another round was set. Two armored combatants approached, one brandishing a formidable two-handed sword and the other wielding a deadly spear. Steve readied himself.

The spearman, with a flourish, spun his weapon menacingly before unleashing a bellowing battle cry. He plunged the long spear in Steve's direction, only to have him shift out of the way once more, maintaining his stable stance. The man with the two-handed sword brought the massive weapon down upon him. Sansa flinched at the sound it made once it connected with the Captain's shield. The fighter's weapon practically shook in his hands, temporarily disabling him.

Steve stole the opportunity to launch his shield at the spearman before tackling the swordsman to the ground. He secured the man's hands holding the weapon to his chest, rendering him defenseless. With the swordsman successfully pinned, two swift right hooks found their mark on the his head.

While he dealt with the swordsman, the spearman recovered. Steve heard his battle cry again and forcefully rolled out of the way. An audible sound of shock and awe emitted from the crowd. Steve looked back and seemed to have the same expression as the audience. The spearman had mistakenly stabbed his own comrade. Steve wasn't expecting him to follow through without a second thought. Bron kept a hard focus on the Captain.

Joffrey walked up angrily to his servant and ordered him to release the remaining contenders onto the field. "Let him prove his worth!" yelled the brat King. Varys, Jaime, Brienne, Bron, Podrick, and Tyrion leaned in, their eyes fixed on the spectacle as four more men joined the spearman in the arena, effectively encircling Steve. The Lannister dwarf shifted his gaze towards his pompous nephew, who stood arrogantly on the opposite side of the tourney courtyard.

"You fool," he muttered to himself. Despite Ser Rogers' evident prowess, he remained, at his core, just a man. Tyrion recognized that he would inevitably tire, and Tyrion desperately needed him alive. The dwarf took it upon himself to slip away from the group and confront his nephew. His short stature afforded him an unexpected advantage in this situation. He moved unnoticed by the group, their attention fully absorbed by the unfolding combat. Only Bron, ever watchful, observed Tyrion's departure and hesitantly followed, his eyes partially fixed on the man bearing the star sigil.

Rogers scooped up his shield and sprang to his feet. Brienne gripped her sword from the wall above, as if she could jump down to the battlefield unscathed and help him. Jaime grabbed her arm with his left hand to ease her frustration. Among the adversaries, one wielded a longsword, another a menacing mace, a third dual-wielded light blades, one in each hand, while the last gripped a lengthy staff adorned with menacing spikes at both ends. Each combatant was covered in armor from head to toe.

Steve clenched his shield tightly in preparation. The opponent with dual blades swiftly slashed towards him; he was by far the fastest and smallest opponent among them. Steve ducked and dodged backward toward the one with the long staff, who took advantage and swiped at his legs. Steve evaded his attack by jumping high, tucking in his legs, and twisting his body, in preparation for a roundhouse kick. Steve whipped his heavy foot around and made contact with the man's head, launching him into a fall, his body imprinting in the dirt. The bladesman flinched. Podrick's jaw dropped in amazement. Steve quickly turned just in time to parry a strike from the mace-wielder. The spikes on his weapon rebounded off Captain's shield. Stumbling backward, the mace-wielder appeared confused as he glanced back and forth between his weapon and Steve's shield, which bore the unmistakable star emblem. The mace's attack left neither a dent nor a scratch.

"Come on!" Brienne exclaimed fervently from the crowd, thrusting her fist triumphantly into the air. Her sudden outburst startled the young squire. Jaime feared Joffrey might hear her outbursts, but he lacked the will to stop her. Luckily the crowd was very loud with the sounds of controversial cheers and shouts.

With the mace-wielder's attack successfully blocked, Steve ducked low, faster than the swordsman's swing. Once he popped back up, he punched the swordsman hard in his armored face, causing him to stagger back. The lingering spearman came from behind.

"LOOK OUT!" roared Brienne. Bron and Tyrion stopped halfway on their march towards the King to peer over the edge once more. Steve glanced at his six. Pulling his shield close so he could protect his front, he moved his body sideways so the spearman's weapon missed just inches away from his torso. The duel-wielding bladesman sprung back to avoid the bloody weapon. Rogers slammed a powerful elbow into the spearman's nose. The spearman released his weapon and it clashed against the ground. Blood oozed from his helmet.

"Oooohhhh," Bron winced as he gazed upon the match.

In a last-ditch effort, the disoriented spearman reached across Steve's head, his fingers clamping onto the eyeholes of Steve's mask, pushing his thumbs inward with each hand. Steve scrunched his face, gritting his teeth.

"Ahhhhh!" Steve yelled in struggle as the mace-wielding opponent charged forward.

Joffrey turned to Sansa, gripping her delicate jaw in one of his small hands.

"Watch ... watch your Hero fall," he hissed, forcing her to look at the field.

With his free hand, Steve unlocked his chin strap, letting the spearman yank his helmet completely off. Steve side kicked him hard in his stomach, forcing him away. The spearman grunted before falling backward. The dual-wielding blade man closed in, joining forces with the mace-wielder in their frontal assault.

"Not today!" Steve said with great effort. Summoning all the strength he had left, he hurled his shield at the remaining foes. The shield ricocheted off them like a pinball machine until it returned to him. Once the dust settled, the Captain was the last man standing.

The gravity of Littlefinger's interest in such a person sank deeper into Varys' psyche. If the man with a shield for a sword could do all of this, what was the man cloaked in metal capable of, he wondered.

One body stirred on the field. It was the nimble, dual-wielding bladesman. Steve walked over to him, determination etched on his face. The crowd chanted for him to finish the last opponent. Brienne and Podrick watched with worry in their eyes. Jaime, Tyrion, Bron, and Varys observed with intense curiosity.

Steve stopped a foot away from the smallest adversary. The bladesman let go of both weapons to peel his helmet away. It clattered to his side. With both hands up in surrender, he said, "I yield ... I yield ..." in a weak voice. Steve's eyes flew wide open, his determination melting into regret. This wasn't a seasoned warrior like the others he had defeated; it was a youngster, no older than eighteen. Steve took a moment to gaze upon the field full of fallen foes. It looked different to him now than when he entered. It didn't remind him of nostalgic training grounds or the battlegrounds of war. It looked like a barbaric sport. He hadn't defended anything or anyone other than himself.

Jaime noticed his struggle. The Kingslayer was not unfamiliar with inner turmoil. Despite his victory, Steve looked defeated. His own thoughts muffled the cacophony from the crowd, and an old memory bubbled to the surface, a memory from before the Avengers:

He had just finished a tour, one of the many live-entertainment performances he did for his nation under the identity of Captain America, for the USO. They used him to boost morale, promote the military, and showcase his strength, among other things, when all he wanted to do was serve his country. He sat under an overhang as rain poured down, sketching an image of a monkey balancing on a unicycle, a scene he'd observed during his travels. Peggy Carter, the British agent, approached him. Her elegant appearance, with wavy dark brown hair, sharp chin, official uniform, and red lips, complemented her nerves of steel.

"That was quite a performance," she said, with a hint of discontent.

"Yeah," he responded. His affirmation concealed little of his disappointment. "I had to improvise a little bit. The crowds I'm used to are usually larger than twelve," he added, unable to meet her gaze.

"I understand you're 'America's New Hope,'" Peggy inquired.

"Bond sales see a 10% bump in every state I visit," he deflected.

"Is that Senator Brandt I hear?" she challenged. Steve paused, not pleased with the work.

"At least he's got me doing this. Phillips would have had me stuck in a lab."

The rain splashed hard with every drop, just as the crowd yelled with every emotion.

"And are these your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey?"

Her words resonated in his head. This arena was no different, just bloodier. Amidst the cacophony of voices, one sound, in particular, drew him from his thoughts. It was notably different from the rest: a single, slow, rhythmic clap, like the beat of a drum or a slow-motion gunshot bang from Peggy's gun when she angrily fired at the Vibranium shield before it became his. It snapped him out of his sad trance, and he searched for its source. The crowd seemed to react to it as well. It started out small but grew as time passed. Tyrion searched for it too. It sounded closer to him than the Captain.

Steve scanned the stands. Stunned, he found it at the highest vantage point of the stone wall, standing next to the brat king. It was Sansa, daring to clap faster and harder, an unspoken congratulations for his valor and restraint. A stern look on her face kept her from faltering.

"You were meant for more than this, you know," he could hear Peggy say.

"Lady Stark..." Tyrion whispered to himself. A ripple effect formed as the clap influenced the crowd. Her brave action encouraged other people, turning the tide of some of the disturbances from the crowd.

The moment was ruined when Steve saw Joffrey give an order to Ser Meryn Trant. Tyrion heard it and continued his journey with a quickened pace. As Ser Meryn raised his hand to strike her, Steve did something most unexpected. He tightened the strap on his shield, tapped into some new found energy, and charged full-tilt toward the corner of the stone wall, where it met it's perpendicular cousin.

"What the hell is he doing?" exclaimed Bron when he realized he was talking to himself, and joined Tyrion. The rest watched in great anticipation. Steve sprinted twice as fast as the average man, launching himself onto the wall. Using his momentum, he leapt from one side to the next until he was high enough to grip the edge of the stone wall, hoist himself up, and land on his feet with a resounding THUD, shaking the wooden planks of the tent. Terrified, Joffrey reached for his loaded crossbow, but Steve slammed the edge of his shield against it, shattering it into pieces before he could fire. The entire assembly, including Tyrion, stood stupefied, the crowd gasped collectively, and Sansa clutched her necklace in astonishment.

"Holy shit!" cursed Bron, voicing the thoughts of everyone else.

On the opposite side of the tourney courtyard, Podrick, Brienne, Jaime, and Varys were equally taken aback. "H-how ... how did he do that?" stammered Podrick. Even Brienne and Jaime, who had witnessed Steve perform remarkable feats before, found this display unparalleled. Jaime, slightly relieved, noticed his brother's proximity to the King and the Captain.

Joffrey cowered back in his chair. Before he could make any more demands, Tyrion stepped in between him and Steve. Bron remained close to Ser Meryn, one hand resting on the handle of his sword.

"You blind, bloody fool," Tyrion scolded his nephew.

"You can't insult me!" Joffrey rebuked childishly.

"We've had vicious kings and we've had idiot kings, but I don't know if we've EVER been cursed with a vicious idiot for a king," Tyrion hissed in his nephew's face.

"You can't..." pleaded Joffrey.

"I can, I am! He defended your future bride! All because you wanted to torment her for a war YOU started!" exclaimed Tyrion, pointing a finger in his face. Steve recalled what Brienne once told him about the Lannisters, but Tyrion didn't seem to fit the bill. This child, however, responsible for an entire war raised many questions.

"You're talking to a king!" Joffrey exclaimed. Steve's eyes flickered wide again as he witnessed the regal dwarf backhand slap the brat hard with audible contact. Joffrey whimpered.

"And now I've struck a king! Did my hand fall from my wrist?!" Tyrion mocked him, displaying the hand that hit him. Steve bit both of his lips to hide his satisfaction. "And in case you've forgotten, if it wasn't for him," Tyrion gestured with an open palm towards Rogers while keeping his eyes on his foolish nephew, "You never would have gotten your Uncle Jaime back. You owe him quite a bit, you know!" finishing his scolding.

Joffrey stormed off without further conversation. Ser Meryn pursued him, only to have Tyrion cross his path. He was looking at the child beater, but he spoke to his sellsword. "Bron, the next time Ser Meryn raises a hand to Lady Stark ... Kill him," said Tyrion through his teeth. A wicked smile spread across his sellsword's face.

"I serve the king-" Ser Meryn began only to be cut off by a single step forward from Steve. Ser Meryn wished his helmet had remained, for now he could see a bit of fury behind the blue of his eyes. Tyrion could not help but throw him a petty smile. "I'd back away if I were you," warned Bron, and Ser Meryn dismissed himself with a swish of his cape, thus ending the day's entertainment.