@burnski
Beornraed cringe slightly at Alfred's ramblings; he respected his commander greater than any other he'd served, knowing his brilliant strategic mind and the trials he overcame on the battlefield, but some of his behavior was... troubling, at times. "I'll certainly keep my ear to the citizenry, my liege. The day is yet young, but by God's graces, we may see the day peaceful." He watched Alfred ride toward Celnaer Manor, sucking in an uneasy breath when his commander nearly trampled some poor stablehand before the second in command returned to th militia.
As was often the case, Banweald leisurely rose from his sleep later than any of his subjects. He donned a blue silk tunic with intricately woven stripes at its hems and fine black boots, and placed a golden garnet circlet upon his head. When Alfred entered the Manor, the lord was just tucking into a breakfast of honeyed ham and fruit pastries, certainly richer than anything the commander would ever see upon his own table.
Banweald smiled just slightly at Alfred as he approached. "You certainly hurried here; can't even let me eat in peace?" He asked lightly, rising from the table to address the commander properly. He slapped his comrade's shoulder playfully, seeing his troubled look. "I'm only teasing you, sword-brother. No need to have such a grim look."

---

@Simple Unicycle
Wilmot nodded in quiet agreement, glancing once more up and down the quiet main road of town. For a moment she seemed once more lost, as if watching someone far down the way, but quickly her attention returned to Garod as he finished speaking. "I apologize, I never introduced myself... my name is Wilmot. May I ask for your name, kind sir?"

---

@bloonewb
Mildemaer caught the pear and took a joyful bite out of it right away. "Keep it up and soon we'll both be called misers!" She joked to Sibley. She finished the pear quickly and saw her pup eyeing her with begging eyes, and mercifully tossed it the core to gnaw on. She'd already sold the hen to a local farmer for a small sum of gold and silver coins which now was tied at her belt, hanging at the fringe of her tunic. Sitting on the bank by Sibley's boat, Mildemaer turned a silver penny over and over between her fingers. "Sibley, can you read any?"

@ladyanglaise

Banweald and Alfred always had an odd couple type of relationship. One of them is lively and animated, lax and easygoing, lives lavishly and enjoys fine things, likes to hunt and likes women. The other is not like that at all. It is humorous to consider that Bandweald is fifteen years senior to Alfred but the demeanor of each men quickly betray that. One would think that Alfred was significantly older than his liege. Alfred would very likely not like Banweald if they just met on the road. In fact, Alfred would actually be bothered by the lord if they met in different circumstances. He might even start a fight with him.

Their past however tells a very different story. The two were in and out many battles together ever since Alfred joined Banweald’s service. As Alfred rose through the ranks of his lord’s army their respect for one another grew. It all came to a head when Banweald rescued Alfred from imprisonment by launching a daring and suicidal rescue mission. All the other lords wanted Banweald to forgo this plan, but because the lord did not, Alfred will always swear faithful allegiance to his lord. Even if he can be quite bothersome in his mind.

“My liege, I was told that you needed to see me promptly,” said Alfred, “I was concerned and wanted to know if there was something required of me and the militia.”

"A bit, yes," Sigrid said. It was a lie, and she knew it. She could read, but only a little bit, and even then only the Futharc used in Jutland. The Angle runes baffled her. They were familiar, but just not familiar enough that she may recognize the corresponding runes in Futharc. What's more, she's pretty sure the Angles have at least twice as many runes in their script. "Why do you ask?" She hoped that there wasn't some sort of test coming up, or worse yet, a task assigned to her that required mastery of the script. Most horrifying of all would be if her failure to read Angle script marked her forever as a foreigner, a blood with the brutal raiders that ignited the flames spanning the whole Angle-land coast. Sigrid took a nervous bite of her pear, and found it tasting like ash. Perhaps she should have gone to the other farmer . . .

Soon enough, the pear was done. Despite its taste, Sigrid still wished there was more. Pears aren't exactly the filling type, and a merchant's job was never finished. She still had a couple of things to handle before night, not least of which was meeting the local jarls and working out a charter. She looked over to her ship, her mind cataloguing all the articles of clothing she owned. There had to be a fancy dress somewhere in that rotting log. She distinctly remembered buying something of the sort in . . . either South or East Seaxe, definitely something with Seaxe in the name. Yet, for the life of her, she cannot remember if she traded it away. That'll be an afternoon of digging through her muck again.

@burnski
Banweald's smile faded somewhat as he began to speak. "Your second didn't deceive you, I do. Tensions are growing in Northumbria; Coenwulf will need not just men for the frontlines, but he'll need sound strategic minds for his court during wartimes." The lord cooly picked up a goblet of wine and drank from it, glancing to his sword-brother with dark eyes. "How have you been sleeping, Alfred?"

---

@bloonewb
The tangle-headed girl put her coin away. "Oh, no reason." Rolling thunder echoed in the distance, making the hairs on Mildemaer's neck stand on end while her whelp started to bark incessantly. She glanced to the sky, and the gray clouds of morning had brewed into pitch-black murk that threatened to burst at any moment.
"Would you like to come to my cousin's estate? I doubt many will want to trade during a storm."

Alfred thought that this was the Banweald who he had the privilage to serve under so many years ago. He was always intrigued by how his liege could seem like a different person from one moment to the next. It seems like thegns that have been thegns for generations have this ingrained complexity embedded into their personalities.

This was it though. This was the news that Alfred had been waiting for so long that he could barely contain his elation. The moment Bandweald said, "Tensions are growing in Northumbria," was the moment he knew that the King would be make sure that a fighting force to protect the borders of Merica was immediately set in place. It felt like he had been training and preparing for just this moment where he could use Beadu in the field of battle once again. He was ready, he was set, he had everything prepared to go.

It was his liege's last question that threw him completely off guard that his upper body involuntarily jerked to attention. On the surface the question his lord was asking him was a relatively simple one to answer. On another level he knew that the question was deeper than what he was ready to answer, even to himself. "My liege, my sleep has been the same it has been for as long as I can remember," Alfred responded quickly trying to brush off the question. Then he continued, "I believe it is safe to say that your militia has some of the most capable men in the realm. Their daily training has helped honed their skills and abilities and we can send as many as the King needs in the frontline. Their Commander too is just as ready."

@ladyanglaise

Garod continued to walk towards the direction of the Church as the thrall girl told him her name was Wilmot, before asking of his name. Time to see if he had what it took to fully commit to the role. The scoundrel paused, turning to the girl and taking on a rather pretentious pose.

"My name is Lord Garod of House Atlem, hailing from the Kingdom of Cornwall. My colleague, Sir Bado of Penryn, and I were sent here as diplomats, negotiating the land trade and the like. Surely, you have heard of us." There we go, finish it off with just a dash of self-entitlement. That should fool her well enough. The Justicar, however? Garod could only pray he could fool the man.

Sigrid was never an expert on the weather. Unlike her grandfather, she didn't "feel the storm in her bones". It was only following Mildemaer's casual mentioning of it that Sigrid noticed something was out of place in the sky. She stood up, and rushed over to her boat. From her pile of sea-things, she pulled out a heavy tarp, used to cover up the trade goods when rain comes. Wordlessly, she pulled it over the foodstuffs, shielding them from the harsh influence of the elements. She could only hope that the tools would survive on their own. Then, a thought struck her. Her dress! She had to look for it! Sigrid began frantically searching through her cloths, turning them this way and that, looking for that spot of midnight blue. Then, as the first drop splashed against the back of her head, she spotted it. She grabbed at the corner and yanked it out of the pile, clutching it close to her chest. "Well then, let's get going," she said. "An estate sounds quite lovely right about now."

@burnski
"It'll do you well to answer me again." Banweald asserted, voice stern and deep. He straightened his shoulders as he let the goblet rest again on the table; his eyes never waivered.
It's certainly true that war changes everyone involved; Banweald believed he was better off for it all. He was a free peasant as a youth, unremarkable but for the sword in his hand. A humble farmer's life, feeding hogs and sowing hard earth, was nothing he desired. Banweald hungered for much, much more; riches and concubines, to be certain, but also for able and loyal men at the ready.
Banweald saved his sword-brother because he had nothing to lose and the life of a dear friend on the line... but now, when his dear ally was a weakened subject? What was a lord to do for Alfred, and for the populace in his charge?
Banweald's eyes failed to soften. "My brother, I've broken my rings for you before, and I'll do so again without hesitation. But I cannot, will not, break the rings of my soldiers or the rings of my citizens in fondness for you." He said, voice cracking just slightly at the last word. "You serve me with nothing but loyalty and pride, but the man I stand before now is quite unlike he whos sword arm matched mine."
He paused, searching Alfred's face with uncharacteristic earnesty for signs of life. "If I send you forth to Northumbria, how am I to believe your charge won't run headlong into an ambush like a hogs to the sea?"

---

@Simple Unicycle
Wilmot nodded with attempted courtesy. "I've not heard your names, sir, but I'm honored to be accompanied by a lord of such status." She said, monotone yet timid. Her eyes brightened as a flash of red fabric on horseback came down the way. "Ah, that may be my master!"
The crimson figure approached unhurried, keeping a steady eye on the pair as his steed plodded along. Sufficiently close, the good judge dismounted and took a few slow steps toward as soft thunderclaps rattled miles away. Wilmot beamed at the gaunt figure clothed in black and red, but said nothing. Finally, the man spoke:
"What business does a wanderer have with a thrall?"

---

@bloonewb"His estate is on the river; we can come back for the boat when the rain slows. It's a little walk up the road from here." Mildemaer commented. With an offhand thought, she pulled a linen cloth off of her belt and tossed it to her friend, "To cover your head; no use for me." She tucked a knot behind her ear as slow, heavy drops began to pound away at the dirt. She stooped to pick up her hound as they started towards the estate.

Alfred could hear the thunder rolling from afar. It seems as though his senses were just heightened, brought about by Banweald's questioning. He could feel the wind change as the storm was coming in. It started to feel cooler. Alfred liked that feeling. The goblet on the table seemed so much more intricate that he had initially noticed. The honeyed ham and fruit pastries suddenly seemed so much more appealing. The room they were in seemed so much more grander with so many wonderful items on display.

A memory quickly flashed through his mind of a time when he and Banweald were in a forest at night with a battalion of men. They were readying to launch a raid mission on an enemy camp. As they prepared to attack Banweald looked at Alfred and quietly says, "I think I can easily take out more of these ruffians than you can Alfred." Alfred smiles and whispers back, "You're on."

Alfred slowly looks down for a moment at his left mangled hand. Then looks slowly back at his liege. As awkward as their relationship has always been, because of the difference in their personalities, the man standing in front of him is the closest person he has to a friend or even to a family. Alfred would never say that out loud, but on some level they both knew that to be true.

He starts to speak slowly, being very careful with every word he is about to say, "My liege, years of war has left me with physical scars that are clear as day for anyone to see." He uses his left hand to point at the scar on his face. He then continues, "But I seem to have scars that even I can't see. These scars makes it hard for me to take pleasure in things in life as a civilian. I’m ready to give up coin, my stone manor, servants, everything, if I could be a soldier again."

It was at his last words that Alfred intentionally pulled his whole body to attention. His demeanour changed. From a man filled with uncertainty to one full of assurance. He was at that moment unmistakeably a warrior. He grasped his weapon tightly and like the nobleman he had become said, “But for war these same scars make me forcused, ready, and battlehardened. You can rest assured my liege that while I find it hard to live a life in the town sleeping in a bed, I would be very comfortable sleeping under the stars strategizing our enemy’s demise should they cross us. You can completely be assured that your men will not land up in an ambush, because we are the ambush.”

Perhaps Alfred’s personality was as complex as his liege’s was after all.

Double post

Banweald nodded solemnly. "I trust you, Sir Alfred." He said, returning to his table. "Coenwulf will arrive here in a matter of days. See that you men are battle-ready."
The lord spoke flatly, without his previous intensity and without meeting Alfred's eyes. After a significant pause he added, "See to it that Coenwulf trusts you as I do."
He hoped that was possible.

@ladyanglaise
Choking back the terror in his throat with a gulp, Garod spoke to Justicar Alexius in a bold, haughty tone befitting his persona. "I am no wanderer, good judge, but rather a diplomat from Cornwall, here to negotiate the land trade. I found this poor girl looking for you, her having wandered into the inn my companion and I were staying in, and I helped her locate you."

The judge's interest seemed somewhat piqued. "The Kernowyon are looking to buy land in Mercia? Interesting prospect." Alexius noted. "I haven't been to the granite cliffs of Cornwall since I was a boy. For returning my servant, It would be my honor inviting you to a... to a humble supper, and to hear more of the southern coast." he looked at Garod expectantly with a slight grin, but the sullen darkness in his eyes as he stared at the young thief was unmistakable.

Alfred responds quickly, "Thank you for your faith and trust my liege. You will not regret this. I believe our militia is one of the best Mercia has to offer I will make sure they are at their top form for when the King arrives."

Alfred start to back away from his friend and leaves the Celnaer Manor. One would think that he would be elated and excited but instead his mind is consumed by thoughts of preparation and things that must be done. With all the thoughts running through his mind, he thought it be best if he went to the inn to properly think things through and strategize more thoroughly. He can now see the storm brewing closer to the town.

Sigrid grabbed the cloth and tied it around her head. It did well enough to cover her hair, at least until the cloth gets soaked. They began to run, the two of them, as the rain beat down harder and harder. By the time the trail was reaching its end, the droplets felt like cold knives on her back. If she wanted to be wet and frozen, she would have stayed in Jutland.

Sure enough, though, the estate was slowly rising over the horizon into view. Sigrid nearly stopped running to admire it. Her grandfather's house was large, yes, but this building could easily have dwarfed it. These Angles certainly know how to build! The house in the fields resembled a smaller version of the manor-houses that occasionally dominated a village's landscape, and was comparable to even the greatest of Jarl's halls. Better still, it meant shield from the harsh rain that seems to brew up out of nowhere in the Angle kingdoms.

However, there was a complication. Sigrid smelled it as soon as she saw the house. The complication smelled of fresh earth, that being what it was. She yanked the cloth off her head, and found it covered in watery mud. With her other hand, she grabbed for her hair, bringing it to her eyes. Just as she suspected, it was Norse blonde. If she knew any flowery curse words, perhaps she would have made use of quite a few of them. However, there was nothing she could do. To be scooping dirt into her hair now would be even more suspicious, and being driven out of a village or two was not worth risking lungwater disease for. She could only pray that the owner of the estate took kindly to daughters of Vikings.

@ladyanglaise
Garod was afraid something like this would happen. Despite the fact that he and Bado had decided that their personas were from Cornwall, he had only been there once or twice and, even then, never really took the time to learn much about the climate there. He wasn't sure if Bado knew much about the kingdom either. However, the Judge was still waiting upon his response, and it would seem strange for him to decline the offer, much as it screamed "trap".

"I would be honored, Justicar. Would you mind terribly if I brought along my companion as well? He is much more open to conversation than I."

@burnski
As rain begins to fall over the town, Beornraed meets his commander in front of the manor. He was holding a piece of parchment with a crimson staurogram as a header. "We've received word from the monastery; the new Justiciar wants to make your acquaintance. Probably another showy layabout, like the rest of his lot." he scoffed, crumpling the missive in his hands.

---

@bloonewb
Mildemaer barreled through the heavy wooden door shoulder-first, and held it open so Sibley could get through with her. She gave her now blonde friend a puzzled look. "Did something happen?" she asked, not really sure what to think. She set the pup down on the floor and he scurried into the next room, just to be carried back in by a bearded Welshman.
"I'm not telling you again, Cyn, the whelps have to stay in the barn. They shouldn't spend so much time away from their mothers..." his thoughts trailed off as he spied the unexpected guest in his doorway. "Seeking refuge, daughter of Þunor?" he asked simply.

---

@Simple Unicycle
His smile widened, eyes yet dark. "Certainly." Alexius remounted his horse and looked down at Garod, once more sullen and serious. "I'm expected at Celnaer Manor. You'll come to the monastery at dusk. Farewell."
With that the judge started back down the road, he on his horse and Wilmot walking faithfully beside him. She turned around once to wave at Garod, smiling pleasantly, before carrying on with her master.

Kjalr awoke to a small beam of sunlight streaming from somewhere above his head and water dripping onto his leg monotonously. He tried to sit up slowly but suddenly felt like a wave rushed over him. Groaning, he laid his head back down and waited for the room to stop spinning. He tried to recollect the events of the past ... however many days it had been. He remembered sailing with his crew of ten, in a small fleet of 7 other ships. They landed on the beach, only to be greeted by the Fyrd of the shire they were raiding, gathered and prepared. The battle went ill, and the last thing Kjalr remembered was being the last man on the battlefield and taking a sword pommel to the face.

He tried sitting up again, this time with more success. He found himself in a small dungeon cell, laying on a threadbare, straw-packed cot. There was a bucket in the corner and a tray of stale bread and rotten beef by the bars of the cell. Mustering his strength, Kjalr stood and made his way to the bars, which he used to keep himself standing.

Beyond the bars was a dim hallway, lit by two torches. On either side of the hall was another cell. On the wall between his cell and the one on the right was a table, laden with his weapons and armor. His sword, Smarhyrr, was just barely out of reach.

"Hello!?" he called to the darkness. He could only hope for a response now.

Garod gave his own small wave at Wilmot, before turning away and heading back down the road. Once he was sure the judge and his servant were out of earshot, he muttered the word "damnation" to himself. Of course, he just had to go talking to someone in a position of power when Bado wasn't around. That was a surefire way to get himself killed, or worse, dragged into something like dinner with said person of power. He'd just have to hope Bado knew more about Cornwall than he, else both of their heads would roll.

He was wondering if it would just be easier to skip town... But no, they had only just got here, it was too late to go running off. So, until it was time to head to the monastery, he would wait in his room at the inn, trying to concoct some plan...

There it was. That much-feared discovery of her heritage had finally come. It was inevitable, perhaps. When one has been trading in countless towns in the course of a year, such a thing was bound to happen at least once. Or twice. To be honest, she has been chased out of more villages than she'd like to admit. Sigrid hung her head low, awaiting the inevitable condemnation and later expulsion. For now, she just wanted out of the rain. "Ay, refuge would me much appreciated," she said, quiet and nervous.