Upon hearing the man speak of peace, the rebel bowman began moving to talking range, they were heavily camoflagued, and it was if the trees themselves began to move at first, the mud rolling into human form on the wind. The horsemen rode around the large rock they had taken to for shelter, Ser Bartimus at the head. "I'll agree to a armistice, what are your terms?" The soldiers chuckled to themselves and a few began to raise in cheer due to the news of their victory. But a few loud men began to lead the others in a chant that Bartimus tried to ignore, but found himself unable to.

"Bring us Gris! Bring us Gris!" Bartimus knew what they desired, they seeked a lynching, there would be little remaining of the Lord if they got there way, it was imperative that the negotiations were fast, unless the men moved to attack the castle again.

"Euhhh . . ." the messenger mumbled, at a loss for words. "The lord Gris . . . will not be negotiating in person, but we welcome your leaders and diplomats into the castle to continue the peace talks, if that will suffice?" the messenger smiled, hoping they would accept. No doubt knowledge of Gris's 'condition' doesn't stretch much further than the court.

Bartimus rolled his eyes as the man said "Leaders", plural, and at least the men present would have heard that, meaning that Bartimus wouldn't be able to negotiate himself, a horrible spanner in the works, as the other leaders were much less reasonable than Bartimus, hopefully he and the first "Warden of the Storms" as their leader had called himself, would be able to negotiate safely, though the Warden was in hiding somewhere around Estermont, and it would take at least a week for him to reach the castle, time that the army would not be willing to wait. Bartimus decided to make a move, hopefully it would work.

"We have no need of diplomats or entering your cursed castle, you and I will negotiate, if you wish to have any others, you had better bring them quick, else I lead the men after you." This display worked on multiple levels, it meant that Bartimus would be the only negotiator, it was also a display of arrogance and pride in his men. As proof to it's success, the men raised in a small cheer at his words. Hopefully the negotiations would be fast.

The messenger was most certainly agitated now. He was sweating from his palms, and reached into his pocket to take out a hankerchief for his brow. "I cannot speak on behalf of the Lord of the castle, but I can bring someone who can," he sputtered. Then, he turned and trotted back to the castle, not wanting to be in the presence of the captain and his horde any longer.

The general of the garrison, Wallace, rode up to the forest he was directed to by the returning messenger. Along with him came a retinue on horseback. He rode up to a hundred paces from edge of the forest, and stopped.

"Come out where I can see you! I'm not going to talk to anyone that isn't in plain sight!" Wallace called, not one to be ambushed, least of all by traitors.

Bartimus raised an eyebrow at this statement, considering he was easily visible from the forest, but none-the-less, he called the men out of hiding once more to impatient growls and petulant whispers Bartimus walked forewards slightly, frowning and lifting the visor on his helm, revealing his mustached face and large lower lip. "You speak for Lord Gris Baratheon?" He asked with quiet authority, his lower lip rubbing over his mustache and his finger tapping on his bicep.

Wallace considered the rebel captain for a moment. His eyebrows seemed to raise and lower themselves in a silly dance, and his face expressed some odd mixture of inquiry and contempt. 

"More or less" he said, stroking his chin. "Not sure if the peasantry or whatever it is you traitors get your information from have heard, but no one really speaks for Lord Gris." His voice dripped with sarcasm, as if he was goading the other man into attacking him.

Bartimus rolled his eyes at the man, it was obvious that the negotiations would be tiring, though he needed them to end fast, and attacking the man would do the opposite of what he wanted. "My terms are to be stated thusly, Lord Gris Baratheon forfeits all claim to the Stormlands, maintaining a small area of influence in Storm's End, while the new government establishes their own base of operations in Weeping Town, all members of the old regime may be pardoned and continue to serve their lord, and Lord Baratheon shall serve as Master-at-Arms, acting as supreme commander of the military forces. All other duties will be ceremonial. Do you accept to these terms?" Bartimus was impressed at his own ability to recite the terms without a letter in front of him, though he forgot to mention the new form of governing, oh well, it wouldn't be important.

"Oooh, look at that. A peasant standing up straight and talking big fancy words at us. Tell me, peasant," Wallace retorted, spitting out the word 'peasant' as if it tasted bad in his mouth. "Do you even understand what you're saying? Are all the long syllables making your head hurt?" A ripple of laughter came from the back of the retinue. Partly because of the way Wallace said it, in a slurred drawl, as if he couldn't be asked to enunciate his speech.

Bartimus had to show his superiority without drawing his men into a rabid attack, his thought process bringing his face to look like Wallace smelled bad. Smirking slightly as he thought of the answer, but hiding it back under a frown, Bartimus relaxed his posture and placed a hand on his blade, he began to breathe a lot more, and his authoritative voice became bored and breathy. "Listen, [i]Ser[/i], I have served in your lord's army for ten bloody years, I haven't the time for your childish games, answer me or not, do you accept my terms?" A few of the men hooted at this, and Bartimus discreetly patted himself on the back.

Wallace wasn't expecting an ultimatum. He was hoping to dodge the question for a few more minutes, then earn some glory in the name of the Stormlands.

"Let's first see a gesture of goodwill," he began, speaking this time in his normal voice. "I sent one of my most able commanders, and greatest friend, along with a cavalry troop to attack earlier today. I have not heard from him since, and I'm almost sure he's been captured. I request that you return him, and I shall submit your proposal to Lord Gris promptly in a sympathetic light. Norman! You in there!?" he called into the shade of the forest.

[i]Shit[/i] the cavalry had been surrounded and destroyed while he had been near the wall, he had no time to attempt to stop his troops, they took no prisoners. What the hell would he do? No use lying, once Wallace found out there'd be hell to pay, perhaps if he told the truth... no, that wouldn't work either, and he doubted Wallace would go back with a promise. He would just appeal to his force, hopefully Wallace would be scared enough to back down. "Norman? I don't know who that is, but if he was with the cavalry, he's already dead, we took no prisoners, we will be willing to give up any number of generals as a hostage, perhaps a gift of what little gold we have? Actually..." He raised his arm slightly and the archers notched their bows. "No, you are at my mercy, you will return with an escort of my men, and you will present Gris Baratheon with the terms. You will not challenge me, [i]ser[/i]." He nearly spat with the amount of acidity in that one word, but he was displeased, his men were a word away from attacking, this was not how he intended for this to go.

"You . . . slimy rotten . . ." the vessel on Wallace's bald head began to pulse wildly. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it and avenge his friend. Then, a hand from the guard on his right grabbed his shoulder and whispered into his ear.

"Don't do it, ser. They'll fill you with arrows before you get within spitting range,"

"Did you hear them?" Wallace whispered back. "They killed him! These barbarians gotta learn a lesson on morality!"

"You heard his first offer. You do this, and we may negotiate back Lord Buckler."

Wallace tensed, but relaxed, letting go of his sword.

"Alright, you win. I'll take you to see Gris,"

(the second part of the previous collab, also with [@bluetommy2])