@Leo Khan
A figure crossed in front of the far cell and dipped into the dark passageway. As she passed the torches, it became clear that this was a woman in a hooded cloak, with her face covered. She grasped one of the iron bars of Kjalr's cell and pulled back her hood; she was a blond woman with sharp features, wearing a garnet circlet. She stared down at the viking with piercing green eyes.
"If you can't stay quiet yourself, the guards will make sure you're quiet forever." She darted her gaze to either side, and posed a question to Kjalr when she seemed satisfied. "What god will rescue you from this place, Norseman?"

---

@bloonewb
Winoc nodded. "You've found refuge, but you'd best thank the gods for your fortune. Many here would see you hang from a tree." He went to a chest beside the doorway and retrieved two large quilts, handing one to Sigrid. "What's your name, fréodohtor?"
Mildemaer was beside herself in confusion about the whole situation. Quite defeated, closed the door behind Sibley -- if that was her real name -- and leaned against the wall, sinking down until she was sitting on the floor.

"Sigrid," she said, almost at a whisper. "That is my name. Sigrid Geirdóttir. I hail from Jutland." Was there sympathy in the old man's eyes? He had never seen her in her entire life, that she could be sure enough of. Yet, he seemed to know her mind, as well as her troubles. With ginger hands, she accepted the quilt, clutching both it and her damp dress close. Something compelled her to keep talking. "My father was here before. He was at Iona, the cross temp- the cathedral. Are you a man of the cross?"

“Your father was a plunderer of Iona?” Mildemaer interjected as she took the second quilt from Winoc, eyes wide with surprise. The rain pelted against the wooden walls of the estate as Winoc locked the door.
"The raid at Lindisfarne was the first anyone heard of the Norsemen ransacking cathedrals. That was during Offa's time." Winoc said. He took a moment to mull over Sigrid's question. "There's much that you don't know about this land, daughter of Þunor; would a man of the cross open his home to you?"

Alfred loves the rain. He looks up to the sky and lets the drops of rain fall on his face. It's refreshing, cool, and it bring him back to simpler days of when he was younger. Whenever it would rain back then, he would run out and dance in it until his mother called him back into the house.

He hadn't enjoyed the moment for too long when be sees Beornraed coming towards him. Alfred thinks that's all the relaxation he'll have to himself. It is reassuring though that those moments no matter how brief are his and no one can take them away from him. He reads and scoffs at the letter that his second gives to him. "The new Justiciar wants to see me. There seems to be a lot of summoning happening today. It seems as though more important things are always superseded by unimportant ones. But I'll go see this Justicar.," said Alfred.

Sigrid shook her head. That seemed to be the response the old man wanted. "Perhaps not," she said, wrapping the warm blanket around herself after squeezing the water from her hair. "It's very kind of you to lend your home to me." A magnificent home it was, too, if a little bare. Unlike the manor houses she was privileged enough to see the inside of, the inside was not as opulent as the outside. No jeweled candle-holders hung from the ceiling, and the furniture was rough and built purely for function. Luxuries that Angle lords would keep for themselves, like marble and glass, are completely omitted.

Small minutes later, she was shivering on one of the chairs, occasionally contributing a sneeze to the silence. "I feel like I'm intruding on your hospitality," she said, putting a hand up to her own forehead. Her hands felt like ice, as did the very air around her. "Is there anything I could do to make me feel more deserving of it?"

@ladyanglaise

"It was my Urdr, my fate, to be trapped behind these bars. I go only where fate takes me and fate shall provide my escape soon enough." Kjalr's eyes flitted between his sword and her circlet. "I am Kjalr Svensson of Skaggerak. Who are you Noblewoman?"

@burnski
A gaunt man in dark robes strode through the militia training field on his horse as the rain went from a gentle shower to a steady downpour. He seemed unbothered by the rain, while the slave behind him tightened her cowl. He stopped his horse in front of the commander and his second.
"Alfred, I presume?" he said, more a statement than a query. He glanced briefly back at the militia men before returning his gaze down to the commander. "Your men seem battle ready."

---

@bloonewb
Winoc brought his guest a small bowl of soup; a watery concoction of cabbage, potatoes, and hunks of pork. Perhaps not the most appetizing, but certainly warm and filling. "In time, Sigrid, in time. You're not the first of your people to find yourself here." he said, taking a seat nearby. Mildemaer seemed to have disappeared elsewhere into the home. "For now I'd just like to know what brought you to this land."

---

@Leo Khan
The woman shook her head at his answer. "Did passively following fate lead you to the abbey in Gloucestershire? Did you learn to swing your sword through iron and flesh as if calmly floating down a stream? Wyrd nurtures no man, Kjalr of Skaggerak; you must conquer it and rip your destiny from it's jaws." She withdrew a simplistic bronze charm from the sleeve of her cloak and tossed it at his feet. "My name is Hwithryth. I'm the lady of this land, and the only person you can trust within these walls."

@ladyanglaise

Kjalr bent to pick up the charm, his eyes widening in surprise as he held it in his palm.

"This is the rune Tyr. This was made in my homeland. How came you by this, Briton?" He fingered the etched bronze and locked eyes with the stranger. This was the closest he had come to home in many months. Maybe even a year? He could not remember. It made him long for his family. Suddenly everything was clear to him. "You said I could trust you, right? Can you get me out of here? Please, I'd be indebted."

The rain had formed big droplets that were coming down hard and fast. Puddles were quickly starting to form all around. The day's downpour was going to get everything wet and muddy. Alfred was in the middle of talking to Beornraed when the man on the horse strolled over and addressed him.

This clearly must be the man behind the parchment he had just received. This is the town's new Justiciar. Alexius did not seem anything that Alfred thought he would look like. The Justiciar had a harshness evident from the lines on his face. In his eyes one could see that he had a mission and was not going to stop until it was completed. Alfred appreciated men that lived for one purpose.

Alfred responded to Alexius, "I am indeed Lord Alfred, Commander over the Cirencester militia and her armory." "The town's militia is indeed ready for battle, should the need ever arise." "It is a pleasure to meet you Justiciar Alexius. Shall we head into my barracks so that we might get to know each other better."

@Leo Khan
"You're mistaken, Norseman; that was made by my father, not a mile from where I stand. My kin called him Tiw, the god of justice and war. My father put that charm around my neck the day I was born, and I've never been apart from it." Hwithryth paused to check again up and down the corridor, but found it clear. "I have a plan that will free you, Kjalr of Skaggerak, but it will take some careful working, so pay close attention. The church has sent a new Justiciar to Cirencester, and today he's to meet with the commander of the guard. I've reason to believe that he'll convince him to treat unrepentant heretics more harshly, so tonight the guards will come to your cell to torture you.
"What you must do is claim to have seen God and repented; you'll tell them that you had a vision of Jesus on a cross of lilies, and that He brought you to this land so that you might serve 'a good woman, pale and strong.'" She smirked just slightly for but a moment, before again becoming solemn. "It's very important that you don't budge from these convictions; not once, not for anything, no matter what they do to you. Refuse food and drink, cry out for God, rebuke your gods and ancestors until they're convinced. When they bring you to me, you're as good as free. Do you understand?"

---

@burnski
The good judge nodded. "Lead the way, commander."
When they reached the barracks, Alexius dismounted his steed and carelessly dropped the reins, entering without so much as a look to his thrall, but Wilmot picked up the reins and led the horse to wait out the rain under a nearby tree as if she'd been expressly ordered to do so.
"Forgive me for not introducing myself in turn, commander; my name is Alexius, Justiciar of the cross and the crown." the judge said, removing his outermost cloak that had become saturated in the rain. "When I set out from London, a courier told me the strangest tale. A cathedral in Gloucestershire was attacked by Vikings, but before it could be plundered utterly, your men came to fight them off. I heard in quite vivid detail, commander, how the barbaric Norsemen were flayed apart into a raven's feast and their ship set alight so that they could not retreat."
Alexius folded his cloak over his forearm, tone oddly light. "Quite a victory, if it's not just a rumor."

Sigrid quickly grabbed the bowl of soup, letting trace amounts of it slosh over and splash across the wooden flooring. " . . . Sorry about that," she said. Then, she sneezed again, sending even more over the edge. "I can clean it up, I promise." She then proceeded to tip the bowl's contents into her mouth, not stopping until she was licking the dregs out of the bottom. "Thank you, landlord," she said, wiping grey goop off of her face. "I came seeking adventure and experience," she lied. Lying, she found, did not come so hard to her. It was never distressing to tell her grandfather that she was 'heading down to the beach', when she was actually selling shells and stones to the village jeweler. More than that, she felt 'to make money' was not exactly the answer the landlord was looking for.

Winoc waved his hand dismissively at the minor spills and splashes. "I'm sure Mildemaer will bring one of the hounds in here before you get a chance to." he joked lightly. He seemed unimpressed, however, with Sigrid's reason for coming to England.
"For adventure, truly? I've never seen a far-flung voyager with such an expensive-looking dress." he said, standing from his chair. "You sound like the weather got the best of you. Come, I'll show you where the rooms are."

Sigrid nodded, and stood up with the blanket wrapped snug around her shoulders. In her hands was the dress that caught the eye of her old landlord. She felt a bit like an idiot for not hiding it in her clothes or something. The old man led her up the stairs to the rooms above, each step creaking merrily as they put their weight on it. Her mind was alight with wonder and curiosity, churning up the most magnificent images on how her room would look.

The bed did not cover the entire ground, and was not made entirely of bearskin. It, like the rest of the house, was furnished small and practical. The room was larger than her old one in her grandfather's house, but was smaller than the ground space of her boat. A small bed, good for one, was pushed against the far wall with the window. The rest of the room was empty. Sigrid went over to the bed and sat down on it, enjoying the feel of herself sinking into the straw. "I'm fine, I swear," she said. "Traders, by necessity, are immune to sickness." Her next sneeze suggested otherwise. Suddenly, the blanket wasn't so warm.

Kjalr stared at the woman, his jaw unhinged. He could not believe the words he had heard and thought to himself that maybe his English was a little rusty for there was no way she could have suggested what he thought he heard.

"You expect me to turn my back on my Gods? To cry out to a man who was killed by Romans? Even if it were an act, I would never blaspheme against my Gods, only to wake up to Thor's hammer poised above my head or Odin's spear thrust in my belly. If you truly wish to aid me, order the guards to bring me a leg of chicken for my meal tonight. Do this small thing for me, and I will do all I can to repay you."

Fryor walked the the cobbled path he kept his eyes low and put his hood over his head. From past experiences the locals did not take to his kin men worked the fields outlying the the city they paid him no mind as it was not an uncommon sight at least he assumed.
"Hmm hopefully there is a warm plate for my sorry rags." Fryor sighed to himself. He put his hand over his stomach as a low grumble rumbled and turned, with that in mind he picked up his pace into the city.

@bloonewb
"Then, you should have nothing to worry about." His small, light smile hid his worry. Winoc then left the room and could be heard traipsing around the house, before the heavy front door groaned against its hinges, for a brief time the leaving the house silent.
It was only a short while before the deluge lightened into a gentle but steady spring rain, tapping steadily against the roof and walls all around the far-flung Norsewoman. The bedroom door creaked against heavy iron hinges, not opening fully but becoming ajar just enough to reveal a ragged Angle girl in the hallway, looking in at her guest as if she were a stranger.

---

@Leo Khan
Hwithryth furrowed her brow and frowned at the disobedient prisoner. "Look again at that charm, Kjalr; Tiw is no god of truth, but a patron of doing what is absolutely right. Do you think I've gotten where I am by being defiant and righteous? Do you think that Woden only calls hardened barbarians to do his will?" The lady was exasperated that she was being disobeyed, but knew there was no shaking the Norseman from his convictions. As she stared at fire at him for his indignation, she was struck with sudden inspiration. She checked again up and down the corridor; he was lucky that she was so desperate for an ally. "I'll do as you request, but you must listen well. The eastern corridor will lead you into the guards' quarters of the Manor, and the western corridor will lead you to the stables. Go there and steal a horse to take you into the forest beyond the river. I'll meet you there just as soon as I can."

Sigrid sat there, shivering, staring down the girl for a few uncomfortable seconds. Was this an Angle slave of some sort? The slaves in Angle-land, she knew, were common, so much so that most houses of free worker were almost expected to have one. Manors, especially, took pride in how many thralls made up their staff, and she couldn't imagine that this one was any different. The girl looked nervous. Perhaps it was up to her to break the ice.

"Hello," Sigrid said, softly. "Come on in. It's not much, but I think the bed can sit two." She patted the space beside her bed, then sneezed violently. "Sorry. I don't think we've met. I'm . . . Sibley. Sibley of . . . " Oh dear, she had forgotten where it was she said she came from. Was it some hill or another? Hopefully, nobody's memory was all that well. She could pick another place. " . . . of Cant. Who are you?"

@bloonewb
"Can't you see me?" Mildemaer questioned as she pushed through the door, comspicuously holding her left hand behind her back as she held the door with her right. She frowned. "I heard what you told Winoc; you're Sigrid the Norse, playing the part of an Angle merchant woman. I suppose your boat should have given it away; we don't use ships like that in this land."

@ladyanglaise

Kjalr, not one to argue when he was agreed with, nodded, handing back the rune of Tyr.

"Thank you m'lady Hwithryth. However, I warn you, I'll only wait for two days. At dawn on the third, I'll depart."

Excitement grew within the young warrior. He'd be free without spilling a single drop of blood. He amused himself with thoughts of how little his kin valued the effectiveness of words. He returned his thoughts to the Briton noble in front of him. He silently prayed to Freyr, the God of Peace that this woman was a true ally and not going to betray him and lead him to a quick death. However, there was something that Kjalr found extremely comforting about the woman... their shared paganism mayhaps? He did not know, but he suspected there would be a long and beneficial partnership, if not friendship between the two of them.

Sigrid squinted, and now she could see the vague outlining of her new acquaintance Mildemaer. Ye Gods, had her eyesight always been this poor? Her face shifted in and out of focus, as did the rest of her vision. Then, the headaches began. Sigrid was about to answer when it struck, and instead of words, all that came out of her was a pathetic mewl. She doubled over, clutching her head. Her broth returned the way it had gone down, spilling across the wooden flooring. "I'm sick . . . I'm . . . " she moaned, afraid that she would spit more bile.