What Makes a Hero

Chapter 6 - A Sigil Unknown

In the early morning light, Steve Rogers walked alongside the man and woman he had saved. He had allowed them to ride the horses, as their wounds were far more severe than his own. Brienne couldn't stop her gaze from lingering on him. She struggled to discern whether he was brave, kind, or simply foolish for not taking a horse himself. Jaime, on the other hand, continuously assessed him, examining his unfamiliar clothing, his mask, and most notably, his gleaming shield. The formidable weapon clung to his back like a turtle shell, its shine catching the light in a way that concerned the Lannister; it was attention-grabbing in all the wrong ways. But then again, he did just beat five men half to death with it and his bare hands.

"Are you a knight?" Brienne inquired directly, her curiosity piqued. Steve chuckled softly.

"Something like that," he responded, a hint of amusement in his voice. His accent was foreign to Jaime, who had been exposed to a variety of dialects throughout his privileged life.

"Which house do you serve?" Jaime finally inquired, his voice weakened by his injuries.

"Excuse me?" Steve responded politely, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Which house? I've never seen that sigil before," Jaime pressed, his voice growing weaker.

"Sigil? Do you mean this?" Steve questioned, pointing to the star on his chest. Jaime halted his horse, wincing in pain.

"Yes... I've never come across it," he admitted with a touch of frustration.

"Ser Jaime," Brienne interjected soothingly, trying to calm his nerves. Steve shifted his gaze from her to Jaime.

"I want to know who you are and what you want ... you're clearly not from here ... but you know who I am otherwise you would not have taken us," the Lannister demanded weakly. Rogers gave him a confused look. "So what do you want? Money? A title? Land?" The Cap lightly laughed and shook his head, putting his hands on his hips.

"Well you are right about one thing ... I'm not from here, but I have no idea who you are," he said looking up at him proudly. Jaime's face caked in mud dropped.

"And where are you from?" Brienne inquired, her curiosity overcoming her initial wariness.

"Brooklyn," Steve answered, prompting puzzled expressions from both Brienne and Jaime.

"And where exactly is that?" Jaime quipped sarcastically.

"New York," Steve clarified. Their exchanged glances communicated their unease.

"So you're not from Westeros?" Brienne asked gently.

"If Westeros is where we are, then no," Steve replied candidly. The uniqueness of his accent made it difficult for them to dismiss his claim.

"Why did you help us?" Brienne questioned after a moment of contemplation. Steve turned his attention back to her.

"I never liked bullies; I don't care where they come from," he stated matter-of-factly in his distinctive Brooklyn accent. Jaime narrowed his eyes at him skeptically. He spoke like a Stark, or a child to him.

"Take off your helmet," Jaime ordered abruptly. Brienne struck his shoulder with the back of her hand, reproachful of his lack of gratitude. Steve raised an eyebrow.

"He just saved us," she hissed.

"Do you trust a man who hides his face?" Jaime growled. Rogers scoffed and took it off nonetheless. When Jaime saw it, he let out an involuntary audible gasp. Steve's face was dirty from the fight, not nearly as filthy as the King Slayer's, but it was handsome, with high cheek bones, blonde hair, perfect white teeth and blue eyes. He could have been mistaken for a Lannister if not for the star emblem he bore.

"What did ... you say your name was?" he breathed absorbing every bit of his face. Brienne, though surprised, wasn't nearly as shocked.

"I didn't," he said smiling. It was a disgustingly kind and handsome smile for someone who beat five men single handedly with only a shield and his fists.

"Steve Rogers," he introduced himself, extending his left hand for the cripple to shake. The Kingslayer accepted it cautiously.

"And you are?" Steve inquired, still holding Jaime's hand. The Lannister's gaze remained fixated on Steve's blue eyes.

"Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer," he added with a mix of animosity and curiosity, attempting to either intimidate the stranger or decipher his intentions. Steve's grin remained unaffected, as did the glint in his eyes.

"Captain America," he declared, pointing to himself with his thumb. Jaime's eyes could have burned a hole in his head. Brienne smiled sheepishly. Not many people could deliberate piss off Jaime on the first try.

"And you, ma'am?" Steve turned to Brienne, his demeanor exuding charm.

"Ma'am?" she scoffed, amused by the formality. "I'm not a lady, if that's what you're implying," she responded kindly.

"A soldier then?" Steve inquired, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops as he assessed her armor and weapon. She looked baffled and blushed horribly. "A strong woman, fighting off five men, and carrying a sword like that?" he said kindly eying her long broad sword. "Must be heavy," he said with pride. She smiled so big she had to look away. Jaime was embarrassed for her.

"I am Brienne of Tarth," she introduced herself softly.

"Brienne of Tarth? That has a nice ring to it," Steve remarked warmly. Jaime's patience grew ice thin, and his severed wrist throbbed. He pulled his horse so it stood between the strange man and her.

"You still haven't answered my question. What do you want, and what business do you have with us?" Jaime snapped. Steve maintained his smile, his eyes still gleaming.

"I'm looking for a friend. I don't want any trouble," he said.

"Oh ... and who might that be?" said the Kingslayer growing weaker from his wounds.

"Tony Stark ... you heard of him?" he asked, not realizing the weight of those words. The reaction on both of their faces did not comfort him at all. The Lannister pushed his horse closer to him, attempting to force him back with no prevail.

"Stark? ... so you do serve a house?" he gritted through his teeth. Steve narrowed his eyes at him.

"A house?" he questioned again.

"Ser Jaime ... you yourself swore an oath to the Starks," she warned him.

"Starks? ... Plural?" asked Steve confused. Jaime wanted to draw his sword, but he had no attached hand to do so. His anger began to take its toll.

"Are you an idiot or an imbecile?" he insulted unable to come up with something more clever.

"Ser Jaime-" she urged him to stop. Steve put a large gentle hand on the horse's chest to stop it from coming any closer, but the Kingslayer was too weak and too angry to do anything further. He fell from the large animal and Steve caught him swiftly before he hit the ground. Brienne gasped in relief. Steve saw the rot still on his severed wrist and frowned, recalling the wounds from war all too well.

"He needs medical attention, now!"