text: You dismount and hand the reins of your horse to one of your men. Moving briskly, you cross the old stone bridge.
  
  
  On the other side, Garyn dismounts and hurries to meet you. It has been several months since you last saw him, however he hasn't changed a bit.
  
  
  He wears a mail hauberk, and his shield -emblazoned with your snarling wolf sigil- is slung over his back. On his left he wears a thick fighting sword, shorter than your longsword but almost twice as thick. On his right he carries a vicious looking seaxe, a heavy stabbing dagger perfect for thrusting through mail links. His face, like much of his body, is scarred by a lifetime of fighting. He is bald, and his hooked nose gives him a predatory, reptilian look. His eyes are hard, flinty; the eyes of a soldier.
  
  
  You meet in the middle of the bridge and he clasps your forearm warmly, his face shows relief.
  
  
  "Our scouts saw you coming, I came as soon as I could. The Lady Catheryn will be overjoyed to hear that you are back"
  
  
  Catheryn. You feel your heartbeat rise. These months without her have been far too long. You can almost see her, like an apparition drawing you homewards. Footsteps echo on the bridge behind you; Orvyn has joined you. He speaks to you, but his eyes are fixed on Garyn
  
  
  "We should ride to the villages first. As their lord, you owe them an explanation. Everyone there has a relative who served in your fyrd. They deserve an audience"
  
  
  Garyn glares contemptuously at Orvyn
  
  
  "A lord does not serve at the beck and call of his peasants. Maybe if the useless sods had held the line, we wouldn't be in this predicament"
  
  
  Orvyn takes a step towards Garyn, Garyn's hand drops closer to the lethal looking dagger at his hip. Orvyn keeps his hands well away from his weapons, in an open show of contempt
  
  
  "Do you want the commonfolk to rebel against us? What harm can it do to delay Aethelwulf's homecoming by a few hours!"
  
  
  Both of them turn expectantly towards you, waiting for you to settle their dispute.
  > You agree with Orvyn
  Thoughts of your wife and children burn inside of you, but a good lord's first priority should always be to his people. You nod to Orvyn
  
  
  "I will ride down to the villages. Garyn, send us some of your men as an escort."
  
  
  Garyn obeys, but his lips are curled in an ugly sneer and he refuses to even look at Orvyn, who wears a distinctly smug expression. Following Orvyn, you turn your back temporarily on thoughts of homecoming. A good lord's duty is to his people, after all. You mount your horse and ride towards the town of Wichestun.
  > You head into town
  You smell the town before you see it. A horrid combination of sewage and rotting thatch permeates the crisp December air. The town has perhaps a hundred homes at most, with most people living in farmsteads around the surrounding area.
  
  
  Normally, the town would be fairly quiet, however today is Wednesday, marketday, and the town is filled with crowds of villagers from the farthest corners of your realm.
  
  
  As your horses move through the center street, villagers hurry to make room. Some cheer, but others eye you with suspicion or even fear.
  
  
  At the center of the town, you hold up your fist and your party draws to a halt. A crowd quickly gathers, all eyes are on you. Pausing to gather your words, you address your people.
  > You say "We stand together!"
  You raise your hand and silence falls like a blanket over the crowd of people. Your eyes flick from face, some meet your gaze, others stare at their feet.
  
  
  "We have been through hell, all of us. You have all lost people to the fyrd; fathers, brothers, sons. I understand your pain. But know this; they died with me, beside me, because we are the north! We live, we fight, and we die together! They say a warrior is only as strong as the shield held by his neighbor, they say this because it is the united who are strong, and we are the united!"
  
  
  Your escort applauds, rattling swords on shields and roaring.
  
  
  Some of the villagers clap nervously, but others remain still; one, a young woman with a grim face raises her hand.                                                                                                                            "Why was the fyrd so undersupplied? Why was it not provided with shields?"                                          One of your men barks at her to be silent, but she snarls back, tears bead her eyes                            "I lost my husband and my son! Don't you dare tell me to be silent!"                                               She stabs her finger at you, sobbing                                                                                            "Answer me! Answer me!"                                                                                                              One of your men reaches for his sword, but you wave him off. Looking the determined young woman in the eye, you give her an answer.
  > You say "War is brutal"
  You exhale tiredly and spread your hands sympathetically
  
  
  "I am sorry, truly I am. By joining my fyrd your husband and son were put in a dangerous position, and regrettably they were killed. I can never ask you to forget, but I can ask you to forgive. Will you do that?"
  
  
  The woman says nothing; her cheeks are streaked with tears. Bowing her head, she pushes through the crowd, away from the market square, people make way respectfully. Tugging at your horses reins, you turn homeward, and your escort silently follows you.
  
  
  The crowd remains silent, watching.