Winterfell

[Ollie]

After hearing the news, Olander skulks about the training yard, figuring sooner or later the man as burly as his name would show sooner or later.

[The Stranger]

About the place where he had seen Burley, he sees another man, almost identifical, wearing the same blue tartan. The man was sharpening a battle axe with a whetstone, while humming quietly to himself.

[Ollie]

Making his way to the clansman, Olander scratches the scalp under his wiry brown hair.

"Take it y'know the Burley?" he asks quietly.

[The Stranger]

"I am the Burley." The man said, raising his axe over his shoulder. The blade itself was as long as the Crannogman's forearm.

[Ollie]

The lordling takes a moment to look the similar looking clansman up and down. "No…you weren't quite toad ugly last time," he says, his expression listless. “Ready t’get knocked on your ass again, Burley?”

[The Stranger]

The man stood, and the little marsh man sees he is slightly shorter, and thicker, than the last Burley. And this one seems older too. Less red hair, and more grey, especially around the beard.

"I am ready frog-eater." He raised the axe.

[Percy Rivers]

Roose returns the feast, which carries on for a few more hours.

[Ollie]

Olander Reed makes his way to the training yard for the third time, cooly on the look-out for tartan.

[The Stranger]

He spots the blue Tartan of the Clan of the White Knife, around the waist and shoulders of an man, his back. His back was facing away from Olander, and his hair was entirely grey instead of red, but there was no mistaking his large barrel chested frame for anyone else.

[Ollie]

"Burley," he called out. It was impossible to mistake the man for anything else. "My spear's tupped your son and grandson," Olander continued evenly. "Time it's tasted you."

[The Stranger]

The man turned around, and looked at the small Crannogman curiously. In his right hand he was swinging a flail, consisting mostly of a long length of chain with a solid iron ball on the end. He's left hand was resting on the ugly looking sickle stuffed in his belt.

"You fought my grandson, aye but my son nearly killed you. Are you sure this is a fight ye be looking for Frog-eater?

[Ollie]

The triple prongs of the crannogman's trident gleamed in the sunlight... perhaps excessivly so, but to the untrained eye there was naught amiss. A clear and odorless varnish coated the razor sharp spear points: the Glass Lady. She was no man-killer, but burned like hellfire and slowed the muscles like an icy shackle.

Olander dipped his head in a nod. "My words are spoken before the old gods, Burley; a Reed means what he says."

And with that, the lordling flew at him.

[Ollie]

Olander touched his temple tenderly, where the flail had struck him like thunder.

"Am I like to come back on the morrow and fight your sire then, with twin warhammers and lighting from his ass?"

[The Stranger]

"No Crannogman, Me da has passed on, but if you'd like to meet him, just keep talking." The man smiled widely, and poured some water over his cuts.

[Ollie]

"If you had aim to kill me, I wouldn't be talking in the first place," he parried, taking a heavy seat and touching the cut on his wrist tenderly.

"You and the other Burley fight in shifts, or they left Winterfell then?" Olander asked, polishing the heads of his trident.