This is unreal. Those were my first coherent thoughts since I came to be where I am, so much for a relaxing weekend hunting.

The Idea was to have a nice weekend away from the general hustle of the big city. Have a pleasant walk thru the woods and maybe bag something with my trusty AR-15, but no the universe had to throw me a curve ball.

One second I have a deer down my sights and then nothing. Once I awoke again I was in some sort of tent surrounded by what I thought were a bunch of renaissance re-enactors. How wrong I was.

After a mild freak out on my part as well as some shouting, a gun was pointed about the tent and swords were drawn to my amusement, however fortunately cooler heads prevailed and we didn't come to violence and after some quick talking and assuaging them that I have absolutely no idea as to how I got where we currently are, I discovered that this was literally nowhere near Kansas. Hell it was so far from Kansas it wasn't even funny.

Now I've read of such things happening to people, but that was just a bunch of people with an overactive imagination and too much time on their hands. This stuff should not be possible, but my current situation seems to disagree with that assessment.

More to the point I seem to have been dropped in a fictional place, however it did take me some time to pin it down and once I did I nearly started cursing like a sailor with a hangover in the middle of the impromptu meeting I was having with the locals.

It would seem that whatever malicious entity dropped me here has a wicked sense of humor. After all couldn't it have picked a less screwed up setting. Even „Lord of the rings" would have been better than this, but no it had to be a murder happy place like this with no clear good guy and worst of all I happen to have only some knowledge of the setting gained in passing.

I mean in this place from what little I know the bad guys can be good and the good guys can be bad. Why did it have to be Game of fucking thrones. Luckily I managed to stop my freak out before it caused a scene. That is to say I merely postponed it by shoving it aside for now until such a time I could afford to have it in private.

It would seem that I fell from the sky and into a river in front of what looked like a young looking Eddard Stark and Hoster Tully who took me in. They seem to think my unexpected arrival was the work of the gods. Probably why they took me in, a good thing too since I would have probably drowned if it wasn't for them. It is them that I found in what is now my tent.

They proceeded to regale me with tales of there rebellion against the mad king Aerys Targaryen and then left me for the moment telling me that they will see me in the morning.

This brings us to now.

I was sitting on my bed contemplating my fate and having that freak out that I mentioned. As a former soldier I was used to pressure and unusual situation, since I did a stint with the marines in Iraq, before I got back and got my engineering degree, but this was in a ball park of its own and frankly I was at a loss.

I shed some tears over friends and family that I'm more than likely never going to see again and decided that crying myself to sleep was the better part of valor in this case. I was to emotional to make any decisions.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Morning came to little fanfare. I awoke to the unfamiliar surroundings that was my tent and at first not knowing where I was or how I got there began panicking anew, but it passed after a few minutes and then it hit me like a speeding Mac truck.

I was alone and in frankly ludicrous situation. The grief has passed the night before or at least the worst of it. Now there was only sadness and resignation to the situation at hand.

Sobering up a little from the glum mood that I found myself in I started to take stock of my surroundings, something that I had previously neglect to do what with all that happened the day before most of which is a blur to me with it being entirely too eventful for my taste.

The fist thing that I noticed was the glaring difference in height that had me shocked for a few minutes. It would seem that I have been de-aged significantly no being what I estimate from memory as only 15 years old. I would have said that it was impossible, but with all that has happened in the last 24 hours I simply chalked it to the entity that brought me here being at least somewhat generous in that regard.

After some brief stretches to check that everything worked as it should I resumed my check of the tents contents. It was sparsely furnished with only a bed a wooden table with two wooden chairs and what could only be a pissing pot in one corner. Now there was something I am most probably going to hate the most about this place. The lack of sanitation is not something I was looking forward to.

I walked to the table and found that what little gear I had with me besides my clothes was neatly stacked to one side as well as a small clay pitcher of what I guessed was either wine or water.

Seeing as I was now again 15 wine would have been quite inappropriate not to mention illegal, but then that was in my old world and there is bizarre thought I never would have had before. In this world 15 did not mean the same thing it did in my own. Here it is normal nay expected to at least be married at my age and not that odd to have at least one kid. So I am unlikely to get much lip about my age. To hell with it all, with the day I'm having I could use some alcohol to dull the throb of emotions coursing thru me.

Taking a swig from the pitcher I find that it is indeed wine, however it tastes like watered down piss. I struggle for a second to hold it down not expecting the taste, but then I figure I will get used to the taste and it should go down better the more I consume of this not quite fine beverage at least most alcohol is like that.

Of my gear not much seems to have come with me, assuming of course that some of it is not still in the river or confiscated by my host. All that lays on the table seems to be my compass, combat knife, binoculars and colt .45 with 4 clips for it. This is good after all it could be worse. Most of these things I could use, the combat knife alone in a worst case scenario could be sold for quite some gold since it has a steel blade and those were a lost art here if I remember correctly. The colt however while invaluable in the short term would be bitch to maintain and even if I police my brass there is still the issue of having to invent gunpowder in order to make more bullets.

I doubt that I would have a choice in the matter seeing as I might need it in order to survive the war I would most likely be heading off to and while proficient in close quarter combat, fighting with a sword is entirely beyond me for the moment. I guess I would have to learn on the go as it were or risk ending up as a statistic in a war I really couldn't care less about.

My thoughts were interrupted by a young boy of no more than eight covered in rags as he came into my tent and with a clumsy half-bow said "Ma l'rd l'rd Stark be asking fer ya"

In response I gave the kid a raised eyebrow and thought of whether his accent was horrible or it was something else.

My stare seemed to have unnerved the boy as he started to fidget and said "I be waiten out fer ya"

I took another long pull from the piss poor wine and this time I managed to keep it down without much trouble.

As I stowed my gear a strange thought hit me. You know I'm probably the only guy on the planet that wears underwear and not what amounts to diapers.

With That I headed after the boy to go and face the music.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Sunlight hit my eyes and I briefly had to shield them so that they could adjust to the sun. Once that was done what lay before me was something that really hammered the reality of the situation.

I signaled the lad to lead the way while carefully observing the war camp that was assembled all around us. The camp itself was huge there are probably thousands of man and hundreds of horses all told.

While we walked to Lord Stark's tent I could make out warriors of the riverlands most armed with spears and short swords and dressed in leather and chainmail. Next came the Northmen clothed in thick furs and chain mail armed with all manner of weapons and carying round shields. Then last came the Valemen fewer in number, but considerably better armed. Most that I could see wore heavy plate armor and were most likely knights of the vale. They were an eclectic bunch to say the least.

The Valemen probably acted as heavy infantry and heavy cavalry with the Northmen acting as shock troops and light cavalry. The troops from the Riverlands were the meat of this force this was obvious by their larger numbers and with nothing in particular setting them apart. They were meant to take the burden of a full scale combat and tie as much of an enemy force as they could or it could be that since we were in the Riverlands they were simply easier to rally in a short amount of time.

What bothered me was that I couldn't distinguish any warriors of the Stormlands that was a mystery in on itself. One that bothered me slightly, but only time could tell. I have still not managed to figure out when precisely I am having found out the whereby now was next on the agenda.

The men all around me were all looking sharp and strolling about like they had a purpose. I paid them little mind. The walk while distracting allowed me to focus on the present and how exactly I'm going to bullshit my way out of this one. While I was no slouch when it came to combat I doubt I could offer much seeing as a gun with a few bullets was my only ace for the moment and my skill with a blade were nonexistent. While 15 at least I looked the part of a warrior or at least I hoped.

My thoughts were interrupted however as it appears we have reached the tent of Lord Stark. The boy removed the flap and bid me to enter.

Taking a moment to brace myself and mentally prepare for whatever follows I then strolled into the tent ready to face the music.

As I enter the tent I note that it is much larger than my one accommodations and also not lord Stark's own since there is no bed. Only one large wooden table adorned with maps and other paraphernalia. At its head lord Stark sits writing something on a piece of parchment with a quill of some sort.

I wait for him to finish still standing near the entrance patiently observing my host and trying to peg him not as a fictional character of a book or a show, but as a real person of flesh and blood. From fiction I know that he is a quiet, reserved and honor bound man. A man that even his enemies would come to respect. What I don't know is whether he was always like that or would he become like that after the rebellion. There were many unknowns about this whole situation. Adopting a wait and see on the fly attitude seemed prudent.

What I see before me and what I know as a fact is that he appears to be a young man in his late teens early twenties. Who recently for a medieval setting lost both his father and elder brother and had his sister disappear on him. In response he raised an army numbering several thousand at least.

He finishes his task and looks up gesturing for me to take a seat. As I do so we decend into silence both trying to get a measure for the other and damn is that guy unnerving. It is difficult to hold my composure, but I manage. I figure since I am here at his order that he likely has something to say, and it is only polite to let him start this conversation. If he wants to sit here all day that is fine, but there should at least be some of that horrible wine for me to drink.

A few minutes pass and the waiting is finally over.

"Lord Lane I hope that you are well rested and have found the accommodations to your satisfaction." he says in a even no nonsense voice.

I raise an eyebrow at that, but nod and reply "Marcus, please and the accommodations aren't the issue here are they." For a moment thinking that I might be pushing it a little, but since the strategy here is to wing it I give it little thought.

He mulls my name over as if debating something and says "Very well to business then Marcus. Myself and lord Tully have discussed the events of the day past at length and while much is still unknown we have judged you to be sincere and seem as lost as us on the matter. To that end as you seem quite fit and of noble birth even thou from lands unknown. I would like to offer you a place among my retinue."

That man has a very strong and commanding presence I thought as I seemed to be mulling the offer. So much so that I nearly didn't catch the fact how many assumptions he seems to be making or the fact he and the Tully character seem to be making a lot of the choices for me, however I let it slide for now as this is a much better deal than any I was hoping to get from them. As there is a war going on in their thoughts seem to be that either I'm with them or against them.

I don't seem to have a choice in the mater, but politeness sake I nod and give my reply n turn "I accept your most generous offer, however there are a few issues that need to be addressed such as the fact that my people fight war in a completely different way to your people. While skilled in unarmed combat, my skills with a sword are quite rusty and there is also the fact that I have no armor of my own."

He nods at me a little confused, but waves my concerns off by saying "Sir Denys Arryn will be here shortly to show you around and have you fitted for armor for it will do you no good to enter combat in your finery. In a few days time we march on the Stoney Sept to relive lord Robert Baratheon I suggest you use that time improve your skills." Pausing for a moment he asks in turn "That Dagger of yours. What is it made of, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Steel my lord. My people mastered it's secrets some centuries past. It is nothing particularly special." The look on Lord Stark's face was picture worthy. Shame I can't take one. Seeing as losing composure is probably quiet rare for the guy.

"I beg to differ. Valyrian steel is a lost art in our lands." However before he could say more a knight resplendent in full plate sans helmet walked into the tent.

"Yes Sir Denys show Lord Lane around the camp and have him fitted with arms and armor as he sees fit. He will be joining us in this campaign. That is all." With that said I stand up joining the now named Sir Denys as we take that as the dismissal that it is and we make our way once more outside into the wider camp.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The two days that fallowed were hectic in the extreme for the newly minted lord Marcus Lane or at least the locals thought him a lord of some distant land they had no ken of. Finding his place in the camp was difficult but he did never the less.

First he found himself in front of the camps blacksmith surveying his goods and trying to decide on how best to equip himself for what is to come.

In the end he decided on a rather plain iron short sword that was entirely unremarkable as well as a pair of iron arm and shin guards that went over the newly procured chain mail that he wore over his battle dress uniform. That particular selection got him quite a few raised eyebrows, since there was no lord on the field of battle as lightly armed as he was. Compared to his fellows he seemed entirely out of place. However considering that he came from a society that valued speed and precision placing emphasize on those two traits above all else. His choice should be logical, but his companions did not know that. The contrast was even bigger considering that he was supposed to follow Sir Denys Arryn's lead who was in charge of the heavy infantry in the coming battle. All of them resplendent in plate armor and tower shields.

As to the noble sir Denys, he was the epitome of a knight handsome, dashing and noble utterly convinced in the righteousness of his calling. Maybe it was because he was young or he was simply naive. It mattered not. He was also a champion swordsman that has studied his craft his whole life a lesson Marcus learned the hard way when they first sparred.

Marcus was a fast learner plus his service in the core made him no stranger to fighting his fellow man. After the first few bouts where he was trounced quite completely however the gathered audience that was there to watch how the foreigner performed started to laugh and jeer. At that point the young lord Marcus lost his nerve threw his practice sword to the ground and issued a challenge to any who felt men enough to face him in unarmed combat to step up and show what they are made of. Utilizing his combat skills he quickly took down seven challengers in quick succession including sir Denys. The man were easy to fight having the skills of bar room brawlers at best simply throwing punches and hoping they connect. After that sparing proceeded without much further disruption.

Later that night he was invited the lords feasting hall, which was a large tent where the lords gathered to supp and discuss matters of war as it were. There he had more face time with lords Tully and Stark. Where upon asking what his duties as a member of lord Starks retinue would entail was told that for now he would be with sir Denys and his troops until his skills at combat were further proven even though his skill in unarmed combat was impressive to say the least. After all you can not kill a men with your bare hands as easily as with as sword.

Thus we find our intrepid adventurer and sir Denys crouched in the shrubbery outside of a town with a wall of solid stone facing them and sir Denys's men, of whom some carried ladders. The wall itself seem unoccupied which seemed strange to Marcus however he was told that the royalist army was within the city searching for lord Robert Baratheon and his forces. The forces Sir Denys commanded were to be the vanguard of the rebel force. Thus first over the wall in order to engage the enemy. The signal that they now all waited for was the tolling of the village bells atop of the sept.

Marcus lay clad in his new chainmail with his holster for the colt on his right side and the scabbard on his left. Ready for the bells to toll, Humming quietly "for whom the bell tolls" under his breath.

He had gotten somewhat good in his opinion with a blade being quick on his feet, however knowing what house to house fighting entailed having experienced it before himself in Iraq. Here he wouldn't be facing goat herders with equipment that worked only some of the time and wouldn't be able to call for aid or air support. It made him worry a little, in his mind he wasn't nearly ready enough, but he would have to make due with what he has at hand, which admittedly wasn't much, but at least he had his colt .45 to even the odds if it came to that.

Like thunder in his veins the bell suddenly began to ring and the man all around him erupted in battle cries as they began to rise.

Marcus steadied himself and began to fallow sir Denys as they ran towards the walls, easily keeping up with him due to the fact that he wasn't nearly as encumbering as him. Once they reached the wall they waited for the closest ladder to be erected. In the meanwhile Marcus observed the tree line come to life as thousands of men started to come out of the tree line and surge for the walls.

A ladder was soon erected and he followed Sir Denys as he ascended the closest bit of wall to the main gate house. So far they were unopposed, however that was soon to change.

As Marcus reached the top he found it barren of enemy forces. What lay beyond the wall was two rows of houses made of large stone blocks with hay laden roofs that lead to a square with a fountain that had a statue of a giant fish at its center. Here he lay his first gaze at the enemy. They all had a red dragon adorning either the armor they wore if they wore non then the shield had one and there seemed to be quite a few of them knocking down doors and searching houses.

"This way" sir Denys shouted as he began to descend the gatehouse and Marcus in tow.

As they reached the bottom and exited the gatehouse they saw that thirty man of the force before them heading for Sir Denys and his force.

At this point Marcus drew his colt in the left hand and short sword in the right and prepared rid himself of all unnecessary thought after all it would be a long day of slaughter and it would not do to be among those slaughtered.

Soon the battle was joined as the rebel heavy infantry force began it's push for the square. Time seemed to craw to a stop as it often did in the midst of heated combat.

Sir Denys was truly gifted as he wrought a bloody trail severing limbs and heads with his long sword. Marcus still in tow killing any sir Denys missed. By now he had sheathed his colt feeling that he might not need it as the battle seemed to be in favor of the rebels and a equalizer of the forces was not required. Preferring instead to wield his short sword more effectively and dodging and sidestepping with ease where a parry might be ineffective or simply not possible.

It seemed like hours before they began reach the center of the vilage as more and more soldiers joined the fray on both sides, however Marcus and sir Denys began to slowly but steadily near the center square. Marcus by this point was drenched in blood using both his combat knife and the short sword to great effect on the enemy. He knew not how many he must have killed for he had no time to think such thoughts as enemy upon enemy descended upon him screaming bloody murder. He was beginning to tire as further into the center they reached the opponents seemed to become more skilled or simply better armed. The adrenaline and blood lust were keeping him going as he almost methodically ended the lives of many that lay before him. Unlike with the spars where he held a leisurely pace and held back some here it was kill or be killed and he intended to show his all, driven by the strong desire to survive this carnage.

As they reached the center square trough the fog of carnage he could see that this seemed to be the last strong point the enemy held from all other roads into the square save one the rebels seemed to be pouring in rallying behind a man that bore an antlered helm.

As the fighting continued around him he took a breather to assess the situation on his end. He only briefly noted that he was covered in blood not his own as if he had taken a bath in it. They seemed to be gaining ground, if at a more sedate pace. All around him the cries for blood and the anguish of the dying could be heard over the general din of battle.

All of a sudden as Marcus spied sir Denys dispatching another opponent a helmless knight with red hair and a tabard emblazoned with twin griffons on red and white came barging out from one of the buildings knocking sir Denys's big tower shield aside and delivering a blow to sir Denys across his front plate staggering him. At this Marcus decided that as this was no mare luck on the nameless knight's part and since he were likely next and not nearly as skilled with a blade as sir Denys the he would need to stack the deck in his own favor. As the nameless knight is about to deliver the finishing blow Marcus drops to one knee and discards both his combat knife and sword while in a single smooth motion draws his dependable colt .45 aims it at the knights center of mass and fires two round at the knight in the nick of time before he could finish sir Denys off for good.

Holstering the smoking gun. He picks up his knife and sword and lunges for the now staggering knight. Ignoring the fact that the shots seemed have been heard throughout the field of battle and have had the effect of momentarily halting the battle or at this point simply not caring.

The knight tries to swing at Marcus weakly, but he simply blocks with arm grieve while letting the momentum carry him forward and shoves the combat knife at the knights side between the heavy plates that protect him and then he twists for good measure.

Withdrawing slightly to see the effects of his handy work, while the knight finally drops on both knees his legs no longer able to carry his own weight. Marcus grabs him by his crimson hair and with one fluid motion beheads him with his sword.

Raising the severed head high for all to see he throws it towards the enemy and shouts "Have at thee you mangy mutts"

At this point the bloodied and battered remnants of the royal army having been shaken out of their stupor began to flee and as the rebels begin to pursue them a deep voice echoes through the square "Let the dogs flee to the dragon fucker, we are coming for him next."

As Marcus drops down having finally fought his last, he craws towards sir Denys to check for a pulse. As he finds one he looks around only to notice a quad of knights with the Arryn sigil on their tabards come towards him "You four come here, now!" He says gesturing with his sword at the knights.

As they reach him he begins to drowsily climb on his feet only to be steadied by one of the allied knights "You two sir Denys is wounded, but alive. You are to bring him to where ever the tent for the wounded is immediately." as two of the knights hurry to comply having witnessed the ferocity of the young lord before them and not wanting to earn his ire. "The two of you are to gather some men and begin to man the walls of this village on alternating schedule post haste." he finishes to the two remaining knights and as he watches them leave to carry out his order he begins to slowly move towards the fountain stepping over the bodies of both friend and foe alike paying them little attention.

Reaching the fountain he moves the body of a fallen warrior and sheathing his weapons sits on its edge. Adrenaline finally leaving him he feels for the first time since the battle began tired and sore as if the world is pressing down upon him. He sits there for a unknown amount of time mealy watching as the various warriors begin to colect the bodies of the dead and the dying as well as striping enemy soldiers of their possessions. His gaze hallow.

It is finally over the only thought in his head that makes sense. He must have killed at least a hundred man today if not more and looking at it now the distance travelled from the gates to here was barely 500 meters if that. Looking towards the sky and suddenly the oddest thought pops into his head a quote to be precise one he read way back in high school "God is a comedian playing to an audience too afraid to laugh" and in that moment he himself begins to laugh. The passerby's giving him strange looks, but he ignores them.

After a moment he collects himself and gathering his strength turns toward the bloodstained pool of water that lay within the fountain and he spots his reflection. His hair wild and bloodstained drops of blood still dripping from his bangs. His nearly covered whole of blood from dozens of men that will not see another day break. His battle dress uniform underneath his chainmail previously green was painted crimson with the blood of his enemies.

He began to slowly wash first his hands than his head and face stopping only to bat away the floating corps of warrior. Cleaning himself he began to feel revitalized to an extent while still sore and tired, he once more began to feel his lower extremities something was unable to do since he first sat down.

At this moment a pair of men-at-arms barring a wolfs head on their shields approaches him and standing a little straighter one of them speaks "My lord your presence is requested at once"

Marcus raises an eyebrow now devoid of blood at that and even the stoic and hardy northman begins to fidget slightly, but after a couple of seconds offers him an arm in order to get up which he grasps and pulls. They then turn about and begin to lead him through the noticeably emptier square towards one of the buildings. Either the soldiers were a lot more efficient at cleaning up than he gave them credit or simply and more likely was that more time has passed than he thought.

The warriors stopped at the entrance and as he entered he found himself staring at a table full of lords, however of those gathered he could only recognize Eddard Stark and Hoster Tully. He sat on a empty chair across from lord Stark and reached to pour himself a goblet of wine only to chug it in a single sip and to have to pour another not even noticing the taste, it might as well have been that piss he drank at the camp, but he neither cared or minded at the moment so long as it was alcohol.

He paid the conversation little mind, preferring to sip from his goblet that is until lord Stark finally turns to acknowledging your presence on the table.

"Lord Lane, good of you to finally join us." He says as stoic as the last time we met.

"I wasn't aware I was expected. I came when summoned." The afore mentioned lord Lane says in a even tone looking lord Stark in straight in the eyes, this time however he wasn't unnerved in the slightest either, because he was getting immune to his stare or he simply didn't car at this point.

"So this is the little beast that lobbed Connington's head of eh?" A lean and muscular bearded man to the left and at the head of the table says after taking a generous sip from his own goblet. The most notable thing about him was the antlered helm he had in front of him. This probably made him Lord Robert Baratheon the future king of the seven Kingdoms.

"Was he supposed to be someone of importance, my bad." Marcus replies coolly before he takes a sip of his wine.

"Ha... someone important he says. He was the hand of the mad king may he rot in hell and a traitor to the Stormlands. Well done lad." With a voice full of mirth he replies.

"Not before he got Sir Denys though. How is he by the way? Any news?" Marcus says directing the last part towards Lord Stark.

"He was gravely wounded, but will survive thanks to you... it will however take him time to recover." Lord Stark replies without missing a beat, probably to used to Robert's antics by now.

"Bah... enough of this seriousness. Let's celebrate. We will talk of these matters in the morning." Lord Baratheon interrupts lifting his cup in a toast.

"As you wish." lord Stark says somewhat chastised.

"How was a man to know there is no food and what piss poor wine there was seems to have run out. So not much of a celebration is it?" Marcus snarks, while trying to squeeze the last few drops from the flask.

The future king frowns at that and for a moment Marcus wonders if he should ready himself to draw his gun after all the sword won't do him much good. It having probably rusted by now with all that blood coating it. However lord Baratheon turns to his side and shouts "Wench bring more wine and it better be the good stuff this time and some food while your at it." turning to Marcus he adds "HeHe... I like this one Ned unlike the rest of you lot seems to have a sense of humor." At that the rest of the room seems to ease in to their chairs once more.

It turns out that the building happens to be a brothel as proven by the fact that several scantily clad girls if not downright naked carry more refreshments and trays of food from somewhere into the hall and the victory celebration begins.

Late into the night with alcohol induced strength the victorious hero and newly affirmed lord Marcus Lane retires with two buxom girls of dubious maidenhood to one of the rooms for some much deserved rest and relaxation, how much of the will be rest is yet to be seen.

All he needed now was a castle and he would be content.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The victory celebration turned into a five day binge with copious amount of whores and enough wine to drown ten men easily. It was a thing straight out of Roman times when the legion would return victorious from a campaign against one barbarian horde or another. Marcus thought the comparison fitting seeing as Robert Baratheon seem to drink like one at least and if that is the sort of celebration to be expected after every victory no matter how small, than this was going to be one hell of a ride.

Five days later the future king was still going at it. It is to be said that at this point he probably couldn't say his own name as he lay somewhere inside the brothel covered in his own piss and vomit. Marcus was nursing a huge headache in one of the rooms on the upper floors still being able to hear the gurgling sounds coming from downstairs. He cursed the sun for being so bright, but most of all he cursed this world for having no coffee. The only way to quickly kill this hangover was with more alcohol and this point this was something he was unwilling to do least he fall back on the bandwagon. He gazed outside the window at the square with that idiotic giant fish at its center and could hardly tell there was a battle here not too long ago.

Marcus was interrupted by girls behind him as they beckoned him to come back to bed, but he payed them no mind as he began to donne his own apparel and pondering his probable state of mind as to why exactly he decided that laying with two STD riddled medieval whores was a good idea he did not know.

That done he stealthily made his way out of the brothel hoping not to be seen by one of the remaining lords and knights still in said brothel enjoying Robert Baratheon's generosity for a victory well fought. He paid the bender little mind now that it was over as he strolled thru the city intent on finding lord Stark he had after all things he needed to talk to him about.

At the gates he met Lord William Dustin also a member of Lord Stark's retinue as it turned out. He was a large big boned man with a face full of scars covered in furs wielding large twin war axes. Quite the notable character all in all. Walking together towards the command tent as it turned out Lord Stark was a man of the troops in Marcus's opinion that was a good thing in a commander.

"The beast of the bells they now call you. Did you know?" Lord William Dustin quietly comments as they walk side by side striking quite the strange sight.

Stumbling over his own step as he hears this Marcus comments „Do they now and here I thought this was just the King talking bald as it were."

"Had you not killed lord Connington the way you did perhaps, but you did and now the troops talk of it. Some have even said you drink the blood of your enemies." Lord Dustin comments without breaking his stride.

"Next thing you hear I'll be as large as three men with horns on my head and belching fire left and right." Marcus snorts at the notion and asks in return "I'm more interested of what you think of the whole affair and less in the usual tall tales the troops spin after a battle"

At this lord Dustin ponders for a few moments and replies in his seemingly uncaring northern standard "I didn't see the main event, but I did see you briefly I reckon fighting besides Sir Denys on the main street... It would seem you are not without skill, regardless of how it may appear. I confess I had my doubts about you myself, but you have so far shown yourself to be a good if unconventional warrior."

Humbled by the praise of the big man and knowing that northman use it sparingly Marcus replies "Thank you for the kind words lord Dustin and let us hope we won't have need of these skills that often, but in war a man never knows."

He simply nods without comment as they navigate the camp towards the main tent. The troops as always trot about doing their various duties paying them no mind.

Here Lord Dustin bids Marcus farewell citing the need to check on his men, but gives directions.

As Marcus finally finds the main tent he enters without word and silently sits across lord Stark who is sitting on the same table from last time and again writing something or another on the parchment before him and as last time Marcus waits.

Lord Stark looks up in but a few moments, once he sees Marcus his face still as stone and yet his eyes slightly betray his mirth at seeing you up and about after the festivities.

"Ah lord Lane I see the festivities have ended" Stark says in way of greeting.

"For me they have. The king is still going at it." Taking a pause Marcus adds "I am no stranger to a good festivity, but this was pushing it. I would have preferred, if we did this bit once lord Baratheon was already on the iron throne, but we can't all have what we want." He finishes.

Lord Stark nods a little at that knowing all too well how his friend is and simply accepting it.

Marcus chimes in after a moment "First call me Marcus. It seems somewhat obtuse being all formal when it is just the two of us and it makes me feel like I'm being judged. The more pressing issue here, if I may be bold is that our little celebration is giving the enemy precious time to recover and regroup."

"Marcus then" Stark nods, but does not continue contemplating for a moment and the adds "Your ring true, however on the other hand it gives us time to rally more troops to our cause. Many lords in the Riverlands and the Vale are still undecided."

"True however what if they decide they are against us. That could be a real problem for us." Marcus counters quickly and the adds as an afterthought "What of sir Denys. He fought bravely, were he not ambushed he would still be with us."

"He is recovering. He woke up last night finally, however he will be in no shape to fight any time soon." Lord Stark says eliciting a raised eyebrow from Marcus at how long that has taken.

"That is good to hear. I must go see him when I have the time, however with my shadow no longer with me what would you have me do my lord." Marcus asks of the wolf lord.

Both man sit in silence pondering the issue, until finally lord Stark answers "I have decided that since you have distinguished yourself in the battle past that you are to command sir Denys's contingent of heavy foot numbering three hundred strong in the battles to come until told otherwise, however speaking of the battle, I have been meaning to ask, but there was never time. That load noise in the squire how did you make it. I am curious."

Marcus nods at the blatant recognition by one of the premier lords of Westeros. Being given men of his own to command was a great honor. It would seem he has finally proven his worth to lord Stark at least or so it would seem. The last part gave him pause however as he wondered what tell him, but he should tell him something. The men before him was no fool, he would smell bullshit for what it was.

Finally Marcus unholsters his gun takes out the chambered round and puts both the bullet and gun on the table, then says to the lord "This is the preferred weapon of my people, while loud by your standards is quite efficient and easy to use. Only minimal training is needed. It fires small metal projectiles at the speed of sound. When used in numbers they could prove a deciding factor in any battle."

Lord Stark is noticeable shocked by what he hears from you, that being the first outright show of emotion Marcus has seen on the man, but then frowns with some skepticism evident on his features and asks "Truly?"

Marcus nodding replies "Yes. My people have a saying all are equal in front of a bullet. I could show you but the ammunition is scarce on me and would be hard to replace." he finishes by picking up the bullet and pretending to examine it.

Thinking hard on the issue lord Stark finally asks "Can you make more of this miracle weapon of yours to aid our cause?"

Frowning Marcus replies apologetically "Sadly not. The infrastructure isn't there it would take months if not years at the best of times to produce even crude replica and these don't seem to be good times to me."

Lord Stark looks disappointed by this "But you can make them eventually correct?"

Nodding Marcus answers honestly "It will take quite some time to be able to produce them easily, but yes with some considerable initial effort I believe it is doable."

Stark regaining his composure simply nods "A matter for another time then."

Nodding Marcus make to leave and says "Now if you will excuse me apparently I have men to inspect."

Lord Stark simply nods to that and says "Why is it every time we meet I learn something new and extraordinary from you Marcus"

Smirking while turning slightly to face his new lord Marcus replies "No idea, but then again we learn as we live or so the saying goes. Well my people have such a saying"