The Northern Trail (Vonghese x BeauteousDeath)

[BeauteousDeath]

Juliana continued to not look at him. Jarl was the Captain that Karth had killed when kidnapping her, he was the Captain that was assigned to protecting the Princess of Parsamore, and the only man she'd ever met who didn't completely treat her like dirt as was common in Parsamore. She shook her head at his question, "No.. He was the Captain that had been assigned to protect me, the man who was trying to do his job when you killed him to get to me," she told him very softly. The Captain didn't show her much kindness at any given time, but he did on occasion, such as when she called for his help when Alaric was trying to force himself on her. She shrugged a little then and settled more to rest, a few shivers wracked through her small frame as she started to bring the covers up to tuck beneath her chin, "He was a little different as compared to the rest of the Parsamoran men," she added then. She looked as though she had more to say, as though to say that even though Jarl was different from what she knew, he was still similar, and it was Karth that was vastly different from what she knew.

[Vonghese]

Karth remembered that fight, and was silent for a moment. Then he switched tongues to Skarlae and muttered the prayer of remembrance, traditionally said whenever you felt it appropriate to honor a fallen enemy. "Holy Queen Icini, fold the warrior Jarl under your cloak, give him rest and strength so that when we meet again, our battle may be all the hotter in your honor."

"He was a good man," Karth said in the common tongue again. "A good leader. He rallied his men and they responded to his call. Evil men can't do that. I bought him a drink after, I look forward to meeting him again. How was he different? I wish I had known him before."

That was the great tragedy of the battlefield. Occasionally, you met a great enemy. Very, very occasionally, you learned their names. You almost never got to know them, have a drink or three, or share a joke. It motivated Karth to die well, knowing he'd go to Queen Icini's hall.

[BeauteousDeath]

Juliana started to shiver again, in search for warmth, she curled around the heated stone placed between her and Karth and huddled under the blankets, wrapping the one around herself as much as she could without strangling herself, and rested her head on his shoulder. Hearing his words, and wanted a distraction from the muscle aches she was experiencing as well as the bone chilling feeling she had, she looked up at him for a moment, "Tell me about this Holy Queen Icini?" she asked. Truly curious about the prayer and who he sent the prayer to. She wanted to learn more about the culture of the Skarl, everything she could, and she felt that so far, she only barely scratched the surface of the tip of the iceberg that could represent their culture. Did she think it was overly complicated? Not really, but she felt it wasn't overtly simple either, and if she was going to be with Karth and his men, and people for who knew how long, she wanted to know about them and their ways.

[Vonghese]

Karth smiled. It was a good story she'd asked for, and he knew he wasn't about to do it justice. "In the beginning, there was one, the Builder. He has no name, he needs no name. He's the one and only. He built the world, built the creatures and built us. Why he did it, nobody knows, but he seems to me like a child building things out of snow, doing it for no other reason than his own good amusement. Well, us humans went about our lives, discovering various things, most importantly Fear and Death. When we discovered Death, we also discovered that the Builder hadn't stopped with that which we can see here. But instead of building another world, he chose those who were greatest and most noble to build the afterlife according to our wishes. Queen Icini was a war leader the likes of which has never been seen before or since. She united Skarlarth and conquered the Seven Minor Kingdoms, and as far down as the Bodthren River. When she at last died, the Builder taught her his arts and she prepared a place for fallen warriors to come together again. Her Hall is a marvelous affair, a great longhouse that is never filled no matter how many warriors come. Every night is feasting and mirth till the small hours. When the morning comes, the warriors awaken and come outside into the Great Ice. The Queen blows a horn and the warriors come together till the ice is thoroughly covered in blood. Then the fallen rise again, clasp grips with the victorious, and they go back inside. The Hall tables have become a great workshop, full of anvils, hammers, forges and other tools of the trade. The warriors mend their broken weapons and build new ones, their own little gift from the Builder. Then when night comes, the feasting begins again. It's a good place, the Warrior's heaven. Your Jarl is most certainly there, and when I go there we'll meet again."

[BeauteousDeath]

She curled into him and around the heated stone a little more, shivering again, hard. Listening to what he said. Even though Jarl had been the nicest to her, that is until Karth, she didn't want Jarl in that Hall. She kept quiet for now about it though, besides, she didn't think she would be able to string two words together with how she was shivering. "Tell me more, please," she said to him then, the sound of his voice was becoming comforting to her, even if his words were at times a little odd to her. The thought that his people actually valued their females was something she thought would take some getting used to. Though she did wonder if that were even an option for her, considering she was technically a prisoner. Still, she hoped she could have the chance to get used to it. To not being treated as a slave, property, or scum beneath a shoe. She didn't pay attention to whatever he was saying next, just the sound of his voice as she tried to seek warmth from him, the blankets and the heated stone between them. Eventually, she fell into a fitful sleep, one in which she tossed and turned. She would give an occasional gasp or whimper as though she'd been struck somewhere.

"Please, father. I beg you.. I'll be good.. I promise," she said in a tiny voice, that ended with a hand clutching Karth's arm with her head ducked down and her body curling into a little ball, she continued some of her murmurs, mostly about her father, and mentioning other names. More often than not, it was begging to not be hurt again, or locked away for some minor misdeed she committed.

[Vonghese]

He told her story after story, of the Black Serpent, Targ the Laughing Dead Man, the Three Brothers of Fueldhurn, all his childhood favorites till long after she was asleep. As he spoke, his captains quietened, listening as well. Gwuern, who'd taught him the stories, nodded with approval. In Skarlarth, the harp's art was as respected as the sword's, and he was pleased to see that Karth had taken all his lessons to heart.

When Karth finally asked quietly for some water, Joake handed it over without speaking. The prince drank, and nodded to the men. "I was thinking," he said. "Targ put me in mind of this. Suppose that we forced a direct confrontation with Parsamore? Instead of pushing North, we turn back south and get somewhere public? Somewhere where the king would have no choice but to confront me openly."

Gwuern's eyes narrowed. "You speak of forcing a single combat?"

Karth nodded. "Climb a tower and address the people, daring their king to come up and meet me. We would fight in the view of the whole city, winner taking all."

Joak frowned. "Why would he? I mean to say, he would have little to gain from meeting you. He'd know that if you fell, your father would scorn any bargains you'd made."

"Because we won't be fighting for the kingdom," Karth said. "We'd be fighting for the princess. Myself and us, against him and his sons. If we win, no one will be able to prevent me from marrying the princess and becoming the king of Parsamore. If he wins, he retains his crown and dignity. Do you think we could sufficiently stir the people up? They're not Skarl, but if I force their king into a corner where he either betrays the people openly or faces me, he would have no other choice."

"How could you do that?" Gwuern asked. "The princess is not enough leverage by herself. The people would be dissatisfied, but not sufficiently to overthrow their king."

Karth shrugged. "I don't know yet. It's just an idea. Think on it, I would know your minds in time."

"May I ask why?" Laithe asked gently. "Why are you suddenly bent on killing the king of Parsamore?"

"Why?" the prince's eyes narrowed. "This is why."

He pulled the blankets back from the princess's face, showing her restless slumber. As they watched, silent, she flinched and whimpered "Father... no, not that..."

"I'm going to kill that bastard," Karth said softly. "If not one way, then another. Remember that, for I make to you my vow. By Icini's Jewels, by the Three Peaks of Hossvar, by all that is holy above and below, I will mount that man's head on my halberd and ride through all the lands between Skarlarth and Parsamore to the song of Parsamore's most sacred hymns."

[BeauteousDeath]

Somewhere along the night, Juliana calmed, no longer muttering and whimpering. Instead, she remained still, it seemed as though she was actually getting the rest she was in need of for that time. Her fever didn't break, but it did cool enough to where she wasn't in danger of becoming delusional again, at least for the moment. This went on a for a few more days, she even became delusional a few times and mistood Karth or whomever was near her to be her father and she would shrink, falling into a memory, or a fear. There was one to where she was begging to not be sent back to Alaric of Mondera, evidently, she feared that prince much more than her own father or his men. There were times to where she said names of other men, her father's men, begging them for forgiveness. Once the fever broke, she just immediately went back to sleep, not having a lucid moment until she awoke. Nearly a week of this, with Karth and his men learning that she was a princess in title only, she'd never been given the respect for even the good things she tried to do, and had only been abused with just a glimpse of kindness now and again. But finally, her fever broke. She hadn't been able to get much food into her, so after awhile, she was only able to keep herself somewhat hydrated, but it meant without nutrition, she lost some weight. Her coppery curls were lank and dull, her porcelain skin wan looking. Amber eyes looked bruised from the havoc her body had suffered through.

But one morning, she woke up, feeling weak and useless, but good. Lucid. And starving.

She woke in Karth's arms, as she seemed to have been doing for who knew how long now? She'd lost track of time to be honest, she wasn't sure how long they had been in their winter shelter. Her head was on his chest, one arm draped over his abdomen and a leg over one of his. Slowly, as that was all the speed she was able to manage with the little strength she was able to muster, she moved from him, lifting the hand that was resting on his side opposite of where she laid, to push back her hair from her face. She didn't move very far, still quite secure in his arms, her head was now at the place where his upper arm and shoulder met, and she was almost lying on her back at this point, she let her hand rest on her head, the other she brought up to rub her face some. After a bit, she let her hands drop to the bottom of her rib cage after making sure the blanket was secure around her, hiding the more private spots of her body from anyone else who happened to be awake.

[Vonghese]

Karth felt the girl stirring and woke up, tilting his head to eye her. Her eyes were lovely, deep and lucid and clear. He smiled, reached down and touched her cheek. "Good to see you," he said. "You're finally back with us. You must be hungry."

He stood up carefully, picking her up in her blanket and moving over to the fire. Propping her up on the mound of saddlebags, he poked at the kettle they'd left by the hearth and turned up some broth from the rabbit they'd eaten the night before. He poured it into a cup and held it out for her, fingers steady. "Drink up. We've got time."

Joake came in at that point, tired from standing watch. His eyes lit up when he saw the princess, and he smiled as well. "Good to have you awake, my lady," he said. "We were worried there. Karth was like a mother hen the whole time, sitting on you to keep you warm."

He chuckled and grabbed his own blanket. "Tir Half-hand was pushing me," he cautioned Karth. "We won't be welcome here much longer. I hope the lady gets her strength back soon, there's been mutterings. We may hunt our own food, but they're saying we're hunting too much of what's theirs. And don't let them see the lady's awake."

Karth grinned and touched the haft of the halberd that never left his side. "They can try. If this place isn't big enough for all of us, we could throw them out. Four Skarl should do against a dozen brigantines."

Joake laughed and rolled himself up in his blankets.

[BeauteousDeath]

Juliana didn't protest when Karth picked her up to move her. She really didn't think she could stand, and if she were honest with herself, she wasn't quite sure she could even manage to support herself even being propped against the saddlebags. She gave him a weak smile as she wrapped her hands around the cup. Slowly, slowly, she reminded herself. She wasn't sure when it was the last time she ate, but she did know it would just come back up if she didn't eat slowly. Thankfully, that really was all the speed she could manage. Amber eyes closed as she slowly sipped from the cup, but then opened at the sound of Joake coming in. Slowly, she brought the cup down, even as she brought her knees up, making sure everything was covered, and rested that cup on her knees. She gave Joake a small, weak smile as he joked about Karth. Then started took very alarmed as he ended up telling Karth how they shouldn't let their "hosts" know she was awake. Was that the only thing keeping them at bay? Obviously those men were no better than what she was used to. Men who loved to hear women screaming. She looked down at her cup then, and silently raised it to her lips again, slowly sipping from it, and then slowly chewing on the bit of meat that came through.

A few moments after Joake rolled up in his blankets, the others whom were still sleeping, started to wake up and prepare for the day, she gave each of them a weak smile as she heard them welcoming her back. She wasn't so sure if she were still alive at that point, or had lost her mind. They were all treating her kindly, and ribbing Karth for how he tended to her, just as Joake did. Last she checked, she was still supposed to be the enemy, so why were they being so kind?

She looked over at Karth and leaned toward him, keeping her voice to a soft whisper, "What happened while I was sleeping, and how long have I been ill?"

[Vonghese]

Karth shrugged. "Things were quiet the first two nights, then Gwuern brought down a deer. We split it with the outlaws, there was a tense moment when they wanted to fight, but Joake threw the troublemaker down a stair and they quietened. On the fourth day, Laithe wrestled their champion, won us a half-pound of salt, though they ill begrudged us the win. Gart, their leader, seems decent enough, but there's always the demands of the mob to worry about. Still, we can handle them if it comes to a straight-up fight. There's only twelve of them, three apiece though I'm good for at least six. They're rabble, no proper warriors among them."

He poked at the fire. "Still, I would feel better knowing that you've got some way of protecting yourself..."

Reaching over, he prodded Joake. "Hey, fiendface. When you go gambling again, I want that knife the one-eyed outlaw carries. It's for the princess. I want her to have something to castrate anyone who comes around."

Popping his neck, he smiled at the girl. "Skarl women are notorious for their knives. Woe betides the man who would mistreat his woman--he'd be liable to wake up the next morning with a red grin below his chin."