Fist of the First Men

Tamora arrived before her father. Tall, voluptuous and strong, with beautiful yet fierce features, she was a woman to command attention. At present she wore a heavy wolfskin cloak over thick woollens, her dark hair tied back in a loose tail. She carried a bronze tipped spear taller than she was, with a bow and a full quiver. Behind her came two stocky women, battle-scarred and strong, members of Tamora's own band of spearwives, the Bronze Maidens (it was said not one of them was actually a maiden). One of the women was six and a half feet tall; it was rumoured her mother had been a giantess.

Tamora strode up to her husband with absolute confidence in herself and in the fact that a dozen men would instantly be wishing they got to share her tent.

"Husband." she said in acknowledgement. "I wish you would spend less time chasing a dream and more time pushing south. You have the biggest army any of our kind have ever seen, and more tribes may yet be recruited. We might carve ourselves a fine kingdom. Winterfell would make us a fine old seat."

Tamora smiled rather wolfishly. "Yes. I look forward to that day. But you have told me how the Wall stretches across the land from the Bay of Ice to the Bay of Seals. How could one dragon alone hope to make a difference to our cause?"

Tamora nodded. "Many years have passed since you were in Westeros. We should send spies to the northern castles and there is a city too? White Harbor. We might learn more of this Maegor and the state of the realm. You should also speak with the free folk from the southern regions. Some of them are said to trade with the black crows. They might know much of use to us."

Tamora had grown up speaking the Old Tongue of the first men but she was now largely fluent in the Common Tongue.

"Of course. When we are close to the Wall, we might send one or two of my women to seek information. Men tell women things they will not tell other men." Tamora smirked before her expression turned serious again.

"Some of the chieftains will require more than words if they are to join us. They will want more than promises. Weapons and plunder for a certainty. Hardhome and the Frozen Shore would be our best options, I think."

Sven comes riding up his small frame lounging away lazily along the back of his adolescent bear. The bear sniffed up at the assembled people and for a moment it seemed confused as the boy on it's back withdrew from its mind and sat up getting off the bear's back. "Mother!" He called happily and launched his petite form up at her from the ground.

Varryn looked at his son and the accompanying bear, sighing quietly. "I agree that we need archers, and I was wondering if you would take particular interest in training them, dear. Sven, how would you feel about getting away from the camp for a few hours? I have an idea I think you might like."

"We do need archers, and I will train them, but not to kill the scouts. Not yet. You need skilled men and women for that. Choose among those you know to be experienced. I can volunteer a few of the Bronze Maidens<" she said firmly.

Sven looks at his father horror-struck at the idea of leading anyone anywhere, and shakes his head rapidly, "Nu-uh." He says simply.

"Bird are fun." He exclaims, "They feel light and fluffy. Though nothing is as fluffy as Bearic here." He states draping an arm around the bear's neck.

"I can try that." Sven chirps happily. "Lets go Bearic, we have work to do." He says pulling a small piece of smoked meat from one of his pockets hanging it in front of the bear then tossing it to him as the duo started down the hill.

Varryn nodded to Sigvauld as the rest of the assorted 'representatives' of the clans came, mostly picked by Varryn himself. "Magnar. It is quite the army we have, isn't it? Growing by the day."