[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/7TMW0TD.jpg[/img][/center]

[right]Lord Barthogan of House Stark & Princess Saeria of House Martell
[sub]Collab with [@Apollosarcher][/sub][/right]

Barthogan Stark tent was along the coast, and the natural harbor gave them a view if the skags went for their long ships. Autumn winds. His banners flew high as the Direwolf were in the air giving pause to the damnable Skags who were off along the countryside. They wouldn’t organize for a battle, no they were scavengers and carrion pickers. He had half a mind to wipe the island's entire population out after this stunt of theirs waging an armed rebellion. They were fools and traitors; the lot of them, Karstarks, had lost near three hundred people by his scouts' guess if they didn’t find more bodies.

He had made a sound plan, he’d called the banners of Manderly and Karstark, not to mention the aid of House Arryn’s Knights eager for some kind of fight. The Night's Watch knew of Torwynd, King of Stone as he called himself; they wanted the bastard Lord Commander Forrester was already getting his rangers back to come southward. He might have been a minor house from Glover but the Forrester lad was quick with a blade and better with a plan, no wonder he made Lord Commander. Skags didn’t want a fight; they wanted to be like the Ironborn raid and pillage; he'd dealt with fools like that before.

Break his forces up and press from each side, pin them in and use rides to bring down runners. The Skags had few horses or their one horned goats, morons might call a unicorn, but cut them off and push. When it came time for battle they were savages with poor steel, little armor, and no knowledge of the land. This was not their bloody island and he was not going to tolerate their barely contained Wildling notions.

Of course, the final concern of the evening made its way to him, one of his sworn swords out scouting the enemy. Reynar Holt had found something far more interesting, a Dornish Princess lost in a land of ice and snow. If this had been thirty years ago... He might have tried to hold her captive but his tempers had cooled... Somewhat. Dornish had still taken Rickon from him; it was hard to forgive that. Princess Saeria Martell was brought forth, she’d been given a hot bath and a fresh change of proper winter clothes from his own forests. The older man leaned back, the famed Greatsword Ice was next to him in its sheath. It was said Barth the Blacksword earned his name by taking that up and cleaving half dozen men in twain with a strike.

He was big, gruff looking yet he was old and tired, the cold did little to faze him but it was the authority, he never wanted to Lord it hung on him. Like weights it dragged in how he stood, how he moved even in just how he welcomed the Princess. “Ah, welcome princess. I’d offer you something more... Suitable but I don’t know much of courtly manners and practices, we care little for it here. What we will have is words, soup, meat, bread, and beer if you partake in those sorts of things with barbarians like me’self.” He spoke with a grin, as moments later food was brought a thick brown soup filled with mixed vegetables from the north hearty and filling men burned off food at an astounding rate in the cold so they ate plenty more here.
 
[i]Gods, he believes I’m who I said I am.[/i]

The shock of it took her a few moments, though doubtful such a pause was noticed, as the Stark Lord spoke. It made her reconsider the dagger at the small of her back—the Stark men had ordered her to hand over her weapons. So, she gave them the bow, the quiver of arrows, and two daggers. They never searched her, however, allowing her the dagger at the back of her thick belt under the many layers that even a tent and brazier fit for a Stark Lord wasn’t enough to make Saeria feel anything but chilled even in his tent.

The Stark Lord was older but could easily beat her to death if he got his hands on her. Two guards outside the tent. She believed she heard footsteps in snow on the other side of the tent’s far thick canvas wall; there would be men all around, armed, and ready. Without the bow, without Reginald, who they tied up near their primary entrance to the camp along the shore…running wouldn’t do her much good. Where would she go? It was hard enough with her items and her stubborn horse. Without them she’d be good as dead, with no good-hearted commoner to save her this time, she reckoned.

Left with precious few options, the Princess simply took the few steps towards the nearest table, stool a mug of beer that didn’t seem claimed, and brought it up to her mouth. It wasn’t a sip, it was a quaffing that left lines of beer running from her either side of her mouth, down her chin and to her neck by the time she pulled the mug away, all but empty, a few heavy breaths and…a belch that could have rocked the wooden foundations of Barth’s tent.

The kind of sound that had no business coming from the Dornish Princess as she wiped her chin with her forearm in a lazy wipe, setting the mug down and nodding at the Stark Lord. “Speaking of Barbarian life: I killed someone. Your man wouldn’t tell me who he was. It looks like you’re here for a fight…I killed one of the other side, I’m thinking?”

Barth cracked a grin. “I like you girl.” He answered watching the beer run down her face. “Aye, Skagosi are up in arms, something something King of Stone. We’ve found evidence they’ve been ritualizing and eating the smallfolk here.” He spoke as he sat up, cracking his neck as he tried to get comfortable. “I am Barthogan Stark, to you folk down in Dorne you call me Blacksword... Unless you prefer to use the title the men with purple eyes give me.” He let her note he wasn’t stupid like many of the southern houses claimed the Starks were. “Warden of the North. We are here for a battle but as you can see they don't want to give us one... So I’ve got the Manderly’s and Karstarks gathering up the banners. While Knights of Vale sail on in to give us a hand, even the Night’s Watch are on their way... Lord Commander Forrester wants Torwynd to hang from the walls. I'd just settle for his head off his shoulders.” Grunted the man as gestured to the seat across the table from him. “Eat something girl wandering around the North like you are, you need food. Walking through snow requires three times the food of a normal march. Body burns more energy in the cold trying to keep you warm... New clothes should do you some good. Those pelts come from the Wolfwood.” 

He stopped and took a few spoonfuls of the hearty stew before them. It had stayed hot it must have been near boiling when it was brought in. “I won’t go around spreading who you are... But you're here for something and I swore an oath to Dragons... So what does the little lady need, I’ll see to it even if I think little of the Dornish. My word is my oath and I gave it to that blood of yours so ask away... Though try to remember we're in a war child.” He added with a teasing tone, he didn’t bother with titles or flowery words. He was every bit what the Southerners called him but he wore it with pride and honor if half the men in seven kingdoms were like Barthogan their King would never want for anything.

[i]Smallfolk[/i], he said, and Saeria Martell felt herself twitch. She thought of Wendal and that cabin. She thought of his little boy. Suddenly, Saeria was reaching for a second drink and plunging her mind and heart into darkness. “Torwynd?”

The name played again and again and again in her mind with the deep tone of the Stark Lord. [i]Torwynd. Torwynd. Torwynd.[/i] She drank once, twice. Each beat of her heart only seemed to make her angrier; common folk slaughtered for some hopeless, pointless, dumbass violence. It was cruel. It was evil. [i]Torwynd.[/i] Drink. [i]Torwynd.[/i] Drink. Her string hand twitched; once, twice. On the surface, however, it might have looked cloudier.

Except for one thing: the intensity of the Martell survivalist was increasing by the second. “Right,” she said, another smaller belch and a wipe of her lips, blinking at his question. “…NEED? This ‘little [i]Princess[/i]’,” she stressed her title to correct him, an irony considering she never blinked when he called her girl, “Needs to kill Skagosi before they kill more commoners.” She snorted, loudly, the combustible mix of Rhoynish and Valyrian blood boiling, the Northern beer enough to make her outspoken about it. “I can track, hunt, and fight. You won’t find a better archer.”

There was no further qualifier. Matter-of-factly, she had declared it impossible with a sip of beer. There was no pride in her voice, there was no ego creeping about the edges of her eyes—there was nothing but steel in those big purple eyes.

“I’ll learn the land, I’m sure your scouts have some helpful tips. I’ve already had a rude introduction to the North,” she said, head shaking at the memory of her ignorance and lack of foresight. She should have known better, and if it weren’t for Wendal…his little son…Saeria felt herself burn all over again.

“Maps. Where are they? Why are you waiting for so many men? You’re sure a small force can’t go in hard and fast and cut off the head of this ice serpent of stupid? Wargs?...worse?”

She asked, looking sharply at him. She heard stories, and from men who were no fools.  

“We called up aid because the Skags won’t organize because the North is a big place girl.” He explained as reached for a map. “I have hundreds of miles of coastline to cover to find where they landed. As you saw they didn’t stay together, they’ve spread out across the lands of the Karstarks perhaps further. I bicker with my advisors on how to deal with them. Some say spread our forces out and try to hunt and kill them, a long and slow process which we do not have time for... Don’t want to be here when Winter comes.” He tapped the locations on the map.

“Manderlys I need to locate their landing. The Karstarks I need help from because they know the lands. If neither come... The Watch will be useless too. We have only more than a couple thousand blades... Which is why we are considering another option.” He explained as he showed her locations of villages and farms on a survey map. “Ride out, spread our men to villages and towns and bring a lot of smallfolk to Karholds Wintertown. Leave half our army’s supply trains with them and their men gathered on the walls. They can defend from Skags at the old castle and keep their smallfolk safe.” He explained as he sighed a moment. “I cannot fight someone who does not organize for battle. I cannot force a battle without martialing up the might of the whole north, with Winter around the corner it would doom our crops.” He explained his predicament.

“...Your bow and your skill are appreciated though.” He offered honestly as he took a long gulp of beer draining half the cup. “But what my men have in training and discipline they counter with survival skills. That barren wasteland of an island has given the ability to endure harsh winters and subsiste on even less.” He groaned and stood up showing her the map. “So I can fight and get more and more killed, then lose even more in the Winter... Or I make things a little worse and take all the smallfolk back to Karhold and have the Karstarks batten down and hold till winter freezes the skags out.” He had no good options.

“This isn’t an honorable foe, not a real king either... He’s a pretender and traitor seeking glory off the backs of backwards people.” He groaned a moment. “We ought to burn their island down...”

“Batten the smallfolk in Karhold, then gather a pack and do what you direwolves do: hunt. There’s a trail. We can find it. He’s a pretender, not bringing ruin to their seat on that island would be neglect of your duty.”

Princess Saeria had gotten that lesson more than once from family, close and distant. 

“Aye, we can hunt them... But not in Winter. We are only in autumn and the cold nearly killed you. What is it like when forty feet of snow buries the roads and trees. When homes are not regularly clear of snow it might collapse inward and kill you.” He explained with a sigh. “My men cannot spend all of autumn hunting Skags. I can spare some yes, but the rest are needed with harvests... A long winter here... Mean famine and death for thousands.” He took a breath and then walked over clasping her shoulder. 

“But, I can see your set on this... So I will give to the Karstarks one hundred of my best to help hunt and kill Skags. Since you want to help, you choose from my men. The best archers, stalkers, trappers, and scouts will be brought up. Test them for me, pick out the best to fight and kill these savages and if you wish go with them till Winter nears.” He answered with a sigh. “Then... I’ll take you to Winterfell where we might finally get warm... And proper hot baths in the springs underneath the castle. You may be a guest of honor, perhaps by the time we return my Brandon will be home, you’d be able to meet the rest of the family.”

She nodded, slowly. “I’ll need a message sent out through the nearest raven,” she said, sadly, “I will have to tell…my mother. I’ll write it now and hand it to your man.”

[i]”Mother. Tell father I love him. Tell my siblings I love them. I miss you all. There is war here, and I must fight it. It’s the right thing to do. Need the RIGHT assistance, will help ties with Starks. Like the Starks, so would you. — Your Little Sun Dragon.”[/i]