Saria stepped forward eagerly to feed Cadarn, for the idea of taking care of any animal could make this much more bearable. The hound was scruffy to say the least, and she noted that she would have to clean him up a bit were he to be her charge. Obviously not pampered, but clean at least. She pat the animal after he’d consumed what she’d had to give him, and took her appropriate seat at the table next to Aelle. “Thank you, my lord.” She eyed the table, before settling for some small portions of the meat and a bit more bread. She picked at it slowly, still unsure of how her stomach would handle things. He started on telling her about the correlations between their two lands, and she had to admit that she knew not much at all about the history of the continent. In truth, she had been too caught up with news about the other side of the world and had almost held her own in discontent. He continued on, Saria adding in her acknowledging nods and continuing to pick at her food. This is all very strange. I am not sure what to expect from this situation. This is not exactly slavery as I imagined it.  

Much of what he said at the table made only half-sense to her, she thought most likely because her village and the surrounding had not been terribly concerned with the Maker and more concerned with their coin and materials. Such was their undoing, she assumed that coin must have had something to do with the destruction. Though she was sure that she would never be a person of war. She did not have it in her to be merciless and slaughter, she could not take lives. There was a difference between her and these people, and she would be sure to make it known. She would not be hardened to the callous shell these people must be. Aside from that, it did not seem… quite as terrible as she had thought. She nodded and pet Cadarn’s head once more, as she continued to listen to what the ‘rules’ were to be. Interesting that a slave is allowed her own coin, she thought, I would think that a master would claim anything that was earned. Perhaps my village has warped my perception of other places far more than I have thought. Perhaps one day escape will be much easier than having to fight. Perhaps I can buy freedom… But I will not count on that. I will count on myself.

“Before this day I hadn’t even known there was a title on the book. It had never done anything before, and the words are in some strange language that I can not make out. I had gotten it from some passersby through the village about a month ago. There are some pages that are easier to decipher, but the rest I am struggling with. There is some magic within me, as I’ve been able to do what I could figure out from it. A bit of fire and ice, a couple other things as well, but the book itself is a tasking matter. Quite honestly, I am not sure who could read this kind of writing, even. It is scribbles and scrawls that look as if some beast had tried to write it.” She pulled the book closer, opening it to a page she hadn’t read yet. Unlike before on the ship where the cover burst with light, this page had a faint gray glow to the text. It looked more organized, almost broken up into words. Illegible nonsensical words, but still words. Her eyes sparkled as she looked over the words, they looked different right now… easier, almost. Best not to learn in front of people… she thought to herself and noted the page’s location. “Perhaps… the book has some magic within itself.” She closed it up and ran her hand over where the strange word had appeared. “It is strange, I know it is, but I feel like there is a way to read it thoroughly, that once it is deciphered it would be legible and one could absorb all of the things it has to teach. That was what I was hoping for, at least.” Her subconscious mind burst through for a moment, worrying her over the book’s future.

She looked at Aelle with her eyes full of fear and voice low, “Are you going to take it from me? Are you going to destroy it?” Something tugged at her to protect it, but something else made her think that it may not need protection. She wasn't quite sure where that feeling came from. It was foreign in more ways than she could understand.

It seemed the girl was as lost as he was, Aelle thought, as he listened to her speaking about the book.  There was nothing that scared the people of the hills and valleys of the North and the Highlands than a mage, especially one that did not know her own power.  The people of these lands were not often gifted by the Maker with magical skills and their alien nature bred contempt and fear.  And above all, these people feared fire.  Their halls, like Aelle's, were mostly timber and thatched with straw or reeds and a spark could turn a feasting hall into a raging inferno.  This made the Northman uncomfortable around Seren's book but his curiosity was greater than his fear.  While he feared her strange book well enough, he knew that if things were ever truly to get out of hand, a good axe in the head would settle the matter rather quickly.  But provided that they did not, and her studies unlocked more of the mysteries of the book and ways to control her own power, Aelle saw opportunity.

"So… this book.  You cannot read it, but there may be a way to make sense of those scrawls and learn more magicks?  Interesting, to say the least, for I am not well lettered myself in our own letters, let alone those of strange peoples.  So though I would help you, I would be of little use."  He chuckled, finishing his ale and pouring himself another.  Some of those in the south impressed literacy on their young men, thinking that they would be better able to fend for themselves if they were able to read the pronouncements of the lords and gods of those lands, and to trade and treat with other nations.  The Northmen had never seen much use to that thinking, though enough of their men were literate enough to deal with their southern neighbors, but as a people, it was not a widely spread skill.  A man, Aelle thought, did not need to read to stand in a shield wall or pull and oar, and all the stories of our people are kept alive in the songs and poems that echo in every hall and rower's bench.  Trapping words on a page took the magic from them, took them out of the world and left them, cold and powerless stains and scratchings.

"And no, I will not destroy your book, but it will be kept safe.  I cannot hazard it disappearing from my hall, as it contains a power few can understand and would more like than not bring swift judgment down on our heads.  If I were a wise man," he continued, nearly finishing his ale as he paused, "I would lock it with my things and only let it out when this hall was secure.  But…"  He twitched his lips, chewing on the corner of his mouth as he thought.  "But I think I will let you keep it under one condition.  We will choose a place for it and if I find it not in that place or in your hands, I will beat you bloody and turn you over to the thane who will flay the skin for your body, put your head on a spike over the gates of his palisade, and burn your book to a cinder.  And there will be no discussion.  It will be in the store room with my hoard, but you will be allowed to access it when your work is finished.  But for tonight, you can keep it."  Aelle felt color flushing to his cheeks and his head began to spin a little as the ale caught him off guard.  The alewife who brewed for his hall could make a deceptively strong batch and seemed to have outdone herself this time.

"Now, Seren, I will show you where you will sleep.  The night grows on and you will have need of rest."  Something in the warrior seemed to snap, then, as he looked at her, and his easy smile took on a more feral appearance.  "Come, little star," he said, as he drained the last of the ale and took her by the hand, half hauling her out of her seat.  She seemed frightened but it did not stop Aelle as he marched her toward his chamber at the end of the hall.  When she tried to struggle, he swung her over his shoulder like a sack of grain, laughing at her attempts to hurt him.  Between her size and the effects of the ale, he barely felt a thing.  Ducking under carved lintel above the chamber's door, he tossed Seren carelessly onto the bed, kicking the door shut behind him.  The mattress, freshly filled with straw by the ever-efficient steward, crunched and shifted under her weight as Aelle made sure the door was latched well, and then strode toward his bed.

While Saria didn’t love the idea of the book being kept somewhere of his, she supposed what Aelle had suggested was better than if it were destroyed. She sighed a breath of relief. At least the book would be safe. She would have to find ways to sneak into this hoard and see it, she decided. While she did well with rules, she wasn’t terribly sure she loved that one. She joked to herself that maybe she could learn to summon it, but she was sure that kind of magic would not be what she learned from this.It all seemed to be a different kind, a very earthen sort of nature-based magic. Perhaps the book had been from the elves, or from a druid of some sort. She wondered whatever had happened to them, and how they had been killed, though that was only an assumption. Perhaps they had written this book of magic and sold it, perhaps they had been robbed of it and were looking for it desperately.

Aelle started to say he’d show her where she’d be staying, and that sounded good to her. Given that she had not had a chance to rest since being knocked over the head and carried off, to say that she was tired was an understatement. If her legs could have detached themselves from her body they would have done so yesterday. Her back ached from everything, and she felt as if she was at least fifty years older than in reality. It seemed like a great thing. He found her hand and started leading, or rather dragging, her to the end of the hall. His gait was too wide. Her brain clicked together the last piece of the puzzle and she panicked and started trying to pull away, but all he needed to do was pick her up and she was defeated. No manner of struggling would shake him, clearly the drink and simply the fact that she was a small village person trying to fend off a pure warrior. She squirmed and struggled and whimpered, as her head nearly missed the doorway to the far chamber.

Saria’s head nearly burst with fear as she hit the bed. She tried to collect her thoughts but any hope of that was gone. Aelle latched the door shut. Saria could only try to cry, but all of her worries were trapped inside her. She wanted to scream no, she wanted to muster up some sort of magical power from somewhere inside her and blow the whole hall to pieces, she wanted to do something to stop this. Instead she sat trembling and could only try to wiggle away as he neared. Her body quaked and she murmured nonsense as her hand slipped and she fell back, with terrible timing as hands grasped her ankles and pulled her back to the edge of the bed. Tears lined her eyes and she shut them as tight as she could.

Aelle groaned and tossed in his bed as the first light of morning streamed in through the horn window.  His head was pounding from the ale the night before and squeezed his eyes tighter as if that would see off the sun and the hammering in his temples.  Unfortunately, it did not and he swung his legs over the side of the wooden frame.  With one eye closed, he surveyed his room and half grinned.  His things were heaped carelessly at the side of the bed and he grabbed his breeches and pulled them on so as not to be completely naked in the morning's chill.  Next to him, her dress in serious disrepair, was Seren, curled on a small sliver of the bed's far side.  Try as he might, he could not remember the exact events of the night before, only flashes of memory in the darkness.  He had tossed her into the bed and closed the door, he could remember, and obviously he had stripped the both of them, her more hastily and violently, but beyond that, it was a blur.  When he turned back toward Seren, his eyes a bit more focused, he saw that she was naked aside from a small bit of her dress she had clutched to herself.  Smirking a little, his eyes lingered a moment, then he pulled a wolf skin pelt from his side of the bed and laid it over her so she could sleep a bit more comfortably. 

Pulling on his tunic, Aelle walked barefoot out into the hall, his feet crunching slightly on the floor rushes as he walked to the door.  Cadarn, hearing the noise, rumbled a greeting from his warm spot by the hearth but did not stir further.  Aelle stooped to pat the wolfhound's back then left the hall for the small creek that ran through the steading beyond the hall's palisade.  The leaves had begun to turn and Aelle shivered as he walked the dirt path to the creek, mentally preparing for the day.  He would have to inspect the steading and then return to Dunholm to speak to Cwynr to see if there would be another raid before the winter months.  Hiking up his tunic, he leaned against a tree near the stream's edge and sighed with relief as the effects of the night's drinking spattered against the willow's trunk.  Relieved, Aelle tossed his tunic and breeches over a limb and waded into the creek to wash the filth of the last few days from him.

The water was bracingly cold and he shivered as he ducked his head under it, staying under until he could not hold his breath any longer.  The salt spray and specks of dried blood that had caked him from the fight and voyage loosened and drifted away down the lazy current and, once he felt properly cleansed, he hauled himself up the bank and pulled his tunic back on.  The linen clung to his still-wet chest but, he decided, it was better than striding around his lands as naked as the day he was born.  A cold wind from the north gusted in and, feeling the chill all the more acutely after his bath and so he jogged back to the hall and joined his wolfhound by the fire.  Aethelstan, seeing his lord's state the night before, had already left out a platter of day old bread and stew from the remains of the last night's meal hung in a cauldron over the fire.  Spooning some into a bowl, he placed it on the floor for Cadarn then took some for himself with a crust of the stale bread.  As he settled back into his seat, letting the bowl steam in the morning air, he shouted for Seren.  "Oi, up and out of the bed, little star.  You are not on your father's steading anymore, but mine, and there are things you need to do.  But first, come, eat.  But be quick about it, eh?!"

Aelle’s voice booming down that hallway was all that was needed to wake Saria, startling her in a manner that caused her to fall off the bed’s edge where she laid. She stood up hastily after crashing to the ground, finding herself completely naked and in shock at last night’s events. Some She held her dress in one hand, and cursed to herself while she put it on and found her shoes discarded by the foot of the bed. Her hair wasn’t even something she considered fixing. Aggravated couldn’t cover the feeling but angry was not quite right, either. Aelle had tried to take advantage of his strength and size versus her slight stature and weakness, yet his own weakness had undone him. After he’d ripped off all of their clothes, he had fallen unconscious on top of her. As perturbed as she was after that, given the rest of the things that had happened to her from the previous day up to his attempt at taking her, she had managed to fall asleep out of sheer exhaustion while trapped beneath him. She started down the hall before realizing that her dress was ripped in multiple places, a tear across the bosom, one down the side, some  smaller tears from the hip to the back, and that was enough to infuriate her.

Back home, this sort of thing never happened. No one would dare have touched her. Her family was not the most wealthy but they had enough and they were respected as far as the village went. No one would have ever touched her, in fact, she had not ever been held in a man’s arms or deflowered. Saria hadn’t ever had time to have a budding romance or casual fling. She had other duties and things, and she had never been the kind to go chasing boys. Sure, she had her friends and acquaintances, she was sure some of the young men in the village might have pined for her or liked her, but she had never gone after them. And Aelle had just tried to skip straight to deflowering. Without even knowing her. She supposed that she might be more upset in a sad way had he succeeded, in the way where she might be depressed that someone had taken advantage of her, but for now she was simply angry that he had just tried to throw her down and take her. How dare he. If anyone was going to have his way with her, it would be someone she chose to be with, someone she loved. Not some strange captor who had kidnapped her and whisked her away to be a slave.

Saria was not stupid, she would not step out of line enough that he would have any reason to do anything to her, but she was angry and after what he had tried to do she was going to voice it. If he was expecting her to work like a slave all day after that, he must have been truly out of his mind. Upon getting to the hearth where he sat with Cadarn she came to a halt, locking her hip and started her preach, “My Lord, I know that I have other duties this day but I do believe that after the damages done to my dress yesterday I should have to take an entire morning and possibly even the evening mending it. After all, what kind of girl would I be if I went around looking like this, it is simply disrespectful,” she modeled the torn garment, spinning in a circle to show the full extent of the damage. “Surely you would not be able to bring such a disheveled mess around in front of your brethren. What if someone were to stop here today and see this ragged thing? What would they think? And what kind of image of you would it paint if you were to house such things in your own hall? I think it would be best if I spent the day fixing my dress and appearance so that I be presentable, and perhaps if I finish those early then I can start on the next task.” She went to turn away, but stopped when she remembered something that had irked her for even longer, “And might I add, my Lord, that my name is not Seren, nor Star or whatever it is you have decided for me. My name is Saria.”

Aelle was amused by her defiance cloaked in humble respect. It showed she had a spirit that would not be easily cowed or broken and deep down, he liked that. He did not want his thralls to be shells of people, sucked of their essence, because even as a thrall, they were still of the North and that counted for something. He had considered her position with him seriously over the voyage back from the raid and he was of two minds. She did not look to be cut out to work in his fields or work with any of the craftsmen on the steading. She might be able to be of some use to the alewife, but she already had three daughters who she had taught her trade, so another would be of no help to her. Her skill with letters would be a boon to Aethelstan and Aelle himself, so if she was willing to cooperate, he would use her in that way, a much lighter labor. But if she was recalcitrant, he would not hesitate to find harder work for her. Anyone could shovel pig shit, after all. When she spun around, showing the damage to the dress, it gave hints at the figure he had seen in his bed and he smiled a moment before dropping to a more serious mien as would be expected of a lord being addressed so forwardly by a slave.

“Have you about finished, Saria?” He used her given name to show that he understood the value of it, and that he had given it back to her as a mark of good will. “I would suggest, in the future, that you do a better job disguising your anger as respect, because that performance was about as convincing as Cadarn in a dress pretending at being a queen. Isn’t that right, boy,” he asked the shaggy beast rhetorically as he petted it fondly. “Before we worry about your dress, you will be given a choice. This choice will direct the course of your service to me and will only be offered once, so listen well. You are my thrall, and you know what that entails from our conversation yesterday. However, you may go about it in one of two ways.

“The first, I think, is what you would expect. I can use you for labor on my lands, because you are cheaper than a hired man or a rented mule. I will work you until your back his stooped, your hands are raw, and all your looks have fled, leaving you a dried out husk of a woman, grey and old before your years. You will practice no magic and will likely be buried in an unmarked grave among these hills like I would a sick beast. If you choose this life, you are welcome to it and I will not force you to do otherwise.

“Or, if you choose, you can live in my hall and make yourself useful to me. You have letters, something I cannot truly boast myself. I learned enough to make my mark and know a bill of sale, but anything more complicated and I am lost. Your body may not be suited for work, but I can make good use of your mind. And, let us be blunt. You have seen yourself, and how men look at you. You are a rare one and that to me is also a thing of value. A lord is judged on his prestige and that is shown in that which he commands. A powerful ship, a secure hall, a well-made sword, and a beautiful woman are all proof of a man’s status. I do not have much now, just a small steading and a hall granted to me by the thane for my service on his ships. I live off the rents and profits of the place and can afford my arms and armor. But I want more, much more. I want to rival the thane’s power, to be a true lord of a true hall. And you, Saria, can help me with that by your presence. The way a lord treats his woman is a carefully judged thing and can speak much of the man’s character. A lord whose woman wears patched clothes,” he said, pointing to her torn dress, “is a lord who does not part with coin and a man would do well not to serve him if he hoped for riches of his own. But,” he continued, rising from his seat and walking to the storeroom at the side of the hall, “if a lord dresses his woman in finery and displays her for the world to see, men say that he is a great and generous lord, for he has a beauty and adds to it with his generosity.”

He paused a moment as he took a key from around his neck and opened a strongbox in the small room and removed a green dress of damask silk. It was nearly perfect sized for Saria, though she was not the first woman Aelle had thought to give the dress. He, as the men of his crew would joke about endlessly, had an eye for the slight women of rare beauty and his last lover stood nearly as tall as Saria with a figure much the same as the young woman’s. It had been intended as a gift during the Winter Festival but she had died of a fever. Now, though, he had another woman who would wear it and do it justice. “So, Saria,” he continued as he locked the chest and returned to the hall with the dress held in front of him, “this is yours. That is, if you choose to remain and be useful to me. If not, you can shovel pig shit in just what you are wearing.” He put the dress in her hands. “So, little star,” he said with a dose of humor in his tone, “what fate do you choose?”

She nearly smirked upon hearing her name out of the mouth that had tried to take it from her, yet out of respect she stopped herself by twisting her face into some other confusing facade. Live in the hall and do light work, or shovel crap for the rest of her life? She cringed at the idea of physical work, more likely she would run off to the woods and be eaten by wild animals than work in a field. The choice was only obvious. If Saria could avoid the axe and the field by using her intellect, then she would. She thought, perhaps, maybe that would be better than how it had been, even. Never in the village was she encouraged to study or learn, she often hid the fact that she had books and things from her peers. Though the village was wealthy and a majority of the people literate, they were like Aelle in that they were literate enough to read what they needed to. They did not seek out other writings simply for the enjoyment of it. 

“Well, I think any one given such a choice would be a fool not to accept the latter option,” she said, taking the dress from him. It was quite lovely, much prettier than anything she had ever had. Saria was not a materialistic kind of girl, but she could always appreciate quality when it came to such things. Her mind started to inspect it when it found itself stuck. Why would he have such a thing? It looked about her size, quite exactly, so had this been meant for someone else? And if so, where did she go? What happened to her? Did he offer another girl the same ultimatum and she choose to work to her death? Saria’s mind raced, scrambling for an answer or a clue, but she knew nothing about this man or his history aside from this hall and the lands he had. If so, this man clearly had a preference for his women being of smaller stature than usual. Strange, she thought, for a brutal warrior to prefer slight women. Or was it…? She couldn’t decide on the matter, but frankly, wasn’t about to divulge more time to it. 

“I suppose I’d best go off and put this on then, my Lord?” Saria suggested and had started to inch away when much to her displeasure Aelle decided something else. 

It was the same solid tone he had used to scold her about her ‘performance’ in disguising her anger and displeasure with him, and it sent chills up her spine as she stopped for a moment to consider throwing herself in the hearth and burning to death over this new option.

“You can do it right here.” 

This is punishment. This is my punishment. I should have just come in here and been a good little slave, but no, I had to go ranting and raving. This is what I get for my insolence. Saria’s body quaked lightly as she mentally scrambled and searched for a way out of this situation. There was none. She sighed and pulled at the shoulder of her dress, which was so ragged now from being ripped and torn and stretched that it simply dropped off of her, landing softly at her feet. Her cheeks were instantly flush and hot, her heart about ready to leap from her flesh. She reconsidered the hearth again, while fumbling to pull the new dress over herself.  Once she got her arms through, it fell over her neatly and fit very near perfectly. She smoothed it out in some of the wrinkled places and examined herself now. It must have made her look much more elegant, such a beautiful garment. Her cheeks lessened in intensity as she looked up at Aelle, feeling much less ashamed and awkward now that she was clothed. 

“Would you like anything else from me at this time, my Lord?”

She had made the right choice, Aelle thought, and the one that would benefit him the most. It was not a terrible life, as the de facto woman of the hall, and she would be accorded far more respect than a thrall would expect, because she was chosen and favored by her lord. If she proved trustworthy with time, Aelle expected that she would be given nearly every freedom denied a thrall, and maybe her manumission as well. That, of course, would depend on how well she served him in her chosen capacity. “Well,” he said with a trace of fondness in his smile, “I am glad that you have chosen not to be a fool. It would be a terrible waste of… well, quite a lot if you died a dried up, shit-shoveling hag.” As she looked over the dress, he could see the confusion on her face and he decided to wait a moment before answering the unspoken questions. “No, this is not something I offered another thrall in some warped ritual on her arrival. It was actually for a woman I cared for, Breanna, and she passed this last winter of one of the fevers that always seems to come with the cold. She was the daughter of a shipbuilder from Dunholm and I was smitten. As you might have noticed, she did share some things in common with you,” he chuckled.

When she asked to put the dress on in another room, Aelle dismissed the idea out of hand. She had not yet earned that sort of liberty and she needed to remember her place. And at the same time, he was not averse to the sight, so it was an added bonus to the lesson in discipline. She was flushed as she changed, her modesty lending color to her cheeks and everywhere else, and he almost laughed at her discomfort. When she pulled on the new dress, it fit her well and she seemed to relax a fraction and the blush died from her cheeks. “You do look quite regal in that, Saria, like a queen of the North. Though, since you asked, I would very much like to rip that dress right off you and teach you some things you clearly have not yet learned in my chambers, but it would be a shame to ruin so fine a dress. And anyway, you’ve barely eaten these last days and you would most definitely need your strength.” He chuckled a moment, a deep, throaty one that leant an air of joviality to his otherwise serious words. The young girl’s face was a mask of shock and seemed to fall almost instantly. Aelle waited a moment before continuing. “Now, before you start blushing again, go and fetch my sword. We are going into Dunholm to see Cwynr and the thane. Maybe there will be another raid before the winter comes!” The thought of a raid gave him great excitement and he returned to his chamber to pull on his trews and boots.

When Saria returned with his weapon, he buckled the sword belt around his waist, checking that both the heavy steel sword and the fighting knife on his belt slid easily from their scabbards. He was not arming for battle but it was a fool that went from his own steading unarmed. Aethelstan had overhead his itinerary and had come around to the front of the hall with a small, shaggy Highland pony with a blanket over his back. It was not a long journey to the city, only a half an hour’s steady walking, but he understood Aelle’s intentions. Having Saria on horseback would draw the eyes of the men in the streets and thus elevate Aelle’s position. “A boost, Saria,” he said, and, taking her by the waist and lifting her most of the way onto the pony’s back. As they crossed into the outskirts of the city, his plan began to bear fruit. Men in the street would stop and look at Saria, then at Aelle, and then back to Saria. Muttered comments and whispers began to circulate as the pair made their way up to the thane’s hall. “Cwynr’s inside?” The ostler nodded and Aelle tossed him a silver crescent, acting the part of the gift-giving lord. Even if he did not command a great ship or have warriors with their swords pledged to his name, he would act the part until he had gained his power. “Come, Saria, we must meet Thane Osferth. This is his hall and my lands are a gift from his own. Be sure and bow when you see him.”

Aelle pushed open the heavy oak doors of the hall, marveling at the intricacy of the carvings on the panels. One day his hall would be decorated thus, he thought, and he stepped into the wide, expansive building were four hearths blazed merrily and warriors sat on benches, some sleeping off the night’s revelry and the others suffering the next day’s hangover. “Lord Osferth, Cwynr!” Aelle raised his hand in greeting to the men who sat together on the dais and walked toward them with Saria on his arm. “I would have come in the night but I wanted to get this one to the steading.” As he reached the foot of the platform, he bowed low and Saria followed.

“Oh stop groveling you goat’s turd and get up here. Have some ale, some food. This one needs the food,” he said, looking at Saria. “Like an elf, she’s so tiny. Not a scrap of meat on those bones. But what would I expect from you, eh Aelle?” Laughing, Osferth returned to his meal while the pair sat as they had the night she was captured, with Saria perched on Aelle’s lap. Osferth was an older man and had once led raids himself until an axe to his thigh left him with a limp that pained him when he rode or stood too long. Still, his rat-like face was filled with the feral cunning that made him a dangerous war leader, even from the secure fastness of his feasting hall.

“Well, Lord Osferth, we won a great deal of plunder for your hoard this week. Do you think there will time enough for another raid?”

The thane was slow to reply, so distracted was he by Saria’s appearance. Aelle had not exaggerated; she did look regal in the dress with the delicate necklace around her throat. “Oh… yes. Yes, I think we will,” he said as he yanked his attention away from her. “Cwynr will be willing to lead it, of course, and you at his side, I hope. Now, though, I must decide where to release you, my sea wolves… Maybe this enchanting creature knows of a place. So, little beauty,” he said, addressing Saria directly, “if you were me, where would you send these men for plunder. If your advice proves sage, I am sure both I and Aelle will be more than happy to reward you.”

Aelle certainly had some guts and no shame whatsoever, Saria thought as he implied what he’d like to be doing. While it was clearly a jest, it was also terribly serious. Saria was nearly mortified and it showed plainly on her face. She knew that he enjoyed watching, and it irked her to know that he would probably be devoting some energy towards an endeavor she was not fully on board with. It seemed more than likely that she would probably have to give up something she was not quite comfortable giving up, yet. She sighed and went off to gather his things for them  to head off into Dunholm. Once she’d brought back the sword, she found herself in another precarious position as they set off to leave. Aethelstan had brought up a pony, possibly the hairiest equine Saria had ever seen, that she figured she was going to be mounted on during the journey and displayed like a trophy, a true spoil of war. Such was her fate, she had accepted that this was going to be the new standard of things. Was it so bad, though? Was there a girl in the world who did not want to be paraded around and shown off for her beauty and elegance? Saria thought she must have been the closest thing to that, never craving attention. It always seemed to be the sort of thing that took away fromlearning anything, focusing on looks and materials inspired brawn and fighting. As she had thought, Aelle hoisted her up onto the pony and that put her about eye-level with him. She reveled at her newfound height for a moment before they started off.

As Aelle led the way through Dunholm, Saria found her presumptions to be true.. People looked at her, then at him, and drew their own conclusions. Saria was embarrassed to be looked at in such a way, and wished she could lean down and bury her face in the pony’s mane. Surely there was enough hair on him to hide a whole other creature within it. While she had for the most part accepted this as her life from now on, she still wanted to hold onto the chance at freedom. Her heart skipped a beat at that moment when she realized she hadn’t seen the book yet that day, and she started to fret over it. Had it been tucked away somewhere in the hoard? Had someone taken it? What if it had been stolen by one of the other servants in the night? It should have been on the table where she’d left it when Aelle carted her off to the chamber last night, so it must still be there… She desperately hoped that it would be still there, or perhaps Aethelstan had put it in the hoard as Aelle had wanted it to be in there. Her heart continued pounding as they came upon their destination, but as she dismounted the pony and scratched his neck, the pounding turned from worried and fearful to anxious and nervous. Aelle was presenting her in front of his thane, and Cwynr whom she’d already met and had an uncomfortable feeling around. It was probably just the general feeling of these people, she assumed, that they would look at her small frame and fair complexion with hungry eyes.

Aelle led her up to the thane, where she followed his lead in bowing to the thane while trying to rid the distaste from her mouth as Aelle made some comment about having to get her to his home. No doubt these men would all assume the worst, that Aelle had dragged her back to his steading and had his way with her the night before. But, trying again to be positive, she thought that might keep them from trying anything themselves, if she was so clearly belonging to Aelle. After the thane greeted them and remarked on Saria’s slight nature, which she was now starting to curse herself for, she found herself seated once more on Aelle’s lap. This is a slow, torturous nightmare, she groaned in her mind. Looking around proved again that she had assumed correctly in that these people would all look at her as if she were the only star in a dark cloudy sky, and what worried her about that was that the thane, Osferth, seemed quite taken with looking at her. She tried to distract herself by reaching for a small roll and nibbling on the edge of it, so as to look occupied. Unfortunately that would not last as the thane addressed her, asking if she knew of anywhere to send the men on a new raid. Her eyes grew wide for a moment. Her village was one of a few wealthy ones, and if on a map one were to draw a pentagon, with her village being the bottom right corner, the peak of the pentagon would be the wealthiest of them, the others of about similar economy as her own. While she realized that this would mean the death of many more people, she was still selfish and human enough to value her own life over those of others.

“My Lords,” Saria started, setting down the remainder of the bread, “I believe I do know a place that would hold for you a bounty higher than of my own home. Have you a map nearby, I might show you where it is.” This would be a good opportunity for her, as the thane had said himself that giving wise advice in this moment would benefit her greatly. Osferth laughed heartily at her response, seemingly amused, and waved over one of his own servants who had already procured a map and started over with it. The sort of thing must have been kept relatively close, if this were where the men all gathered, it was surely where they would look over battle plans and raid ideas. The map found its way to the table and the men laid it out, pushing some of the food aside to make room. Saria located where her home had been, then looked to make sure she had attention, finding that she had captured nearly all of the gazes in the room. She smiled a little, her knowledge was for the first time valued by a general population. It was a warm feeling for her, so she started, pointing to her home.

“There were five wealthy villages in this area of the province, mine being most likely the second or third most wealthy,” she said, marking where the smoking ember of a home once had been with her finger, “…the rest are spread out in a pentagonal shape, the poorest being the other corner here on the bottom, and these two upper corner points being of about equal wealth with my home,” she had her hand on the map like an animal’s claw, one digit assigned to mark off each village, “but this peak point, this is where the silver flows.” She smiled coyly and looked up to Aelle for approval, hoping to have proven a little of her worth.