The Jarl and his steward arrived at the bend of the river to find Bryn standing there alone.

"Welcome," he greeted the Jarl with a grin, "I'm glad you left your guards a ways back."

The Jarl coughed uncomfortably, not sure how Bryn had known he'd brought guards at all. "Yes, well. These woods are dangerous. Here I am, now where's my son."

Bryn's grin widened before he gave a sharp whistle. Harold came running out of the trees and stood by Bryn's side. There were still enough bruises and scabs to make the Jarl suck in his breath and turn red. "Harold, come here."

Harold didn't move.

"Son, come here. I've come to take you home."

Harold hesitated and glanced at Bryn who shook his head sadly. The boy stayed rooted to the spot.

"Jarl, Harold's learned a few important lessons during his time with me. He's learned not to speak until spoken to, to listen to what others say, and," his tone grew darker, "to follow my orders."

With his dangerous grey eyes never leaving the Jarl's face, Bryn said, "Harold, get on your knees."

Harold dropped to his knees.

"Harold, did you learn those lessons?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Do you think your father should learn those lessons?"

Harold choked but said, "Yes sir!"

"There you have it, from the mouth of babes."

The Jarl exploded, his steward desperately trying to hold him back. "Why you son of a—"

"Harold, lie down."

Harold whimpered and obeyed. The Jarl froze. Bryn's huge axe slithered from his back and hovered above Harold who couldn't see it, his face planted in the dirt.

"The boy trusts his father, you see. He knows what makes me angry and what I'll do. So this is him trusting you to make the right choice."

The Jarl's eyes followed the axe blade and Bryn held it, lowering it an inch, raising it, lowering, raising...

"What...do you want?"

Bryn gave his rumbling laugh. "It's funny you should ask since I already told you."

The Jarl started. "The land?"

Bryn's tone went dark. "Yes, the land, you bumbling idiot."

The Jarl threw his hands up. "Fine I'll sell it to you!"

Harold squeaked as the blunt top of the axe landed on his back with a thud.

"Oh no, Jarl Soren. I was willing to buy it but sadly, you said no. And Harold, tell your father about how I feel about repeating myself."

"Sir doesn't like it."

"Right, so what do you think your father should do?"

"Give it to you, sir?"

"Good lad. See, maybe Harold here will make a good Jarl after all."

The steward looked ready to announce the land Bryn's, but the Jarl stopped him. He stepped forward and Bryn waited.

"Why? Why do you want that land?" the Jarl asked.

Bryn laughed again. "Why, to build a house on, of course!"

The Jarl paled.

"Why the long face, neighbor? I'm looking forward to working with you." Bryn sighed and the Jarl’s silence. "I was hoping to have this conversation separate, but we can do it now."

He lifted his axe. "Get up Harold."

Harold rose and Bryn ruffled his hair. "Good lad. Now it looks like your father and I need to chat, so go get lunch ready."

"Yes, sir." Harold gave his father a quick glance before rushing back into the woods.

"Now hold on a moment, I came to get my son back and—"

Bryn held up a hand. "Patience. He'll be fine, we're going with him after all. I feel we should have this conversation over food, so why don't you send that nervous steward of yours to tell your guards you'll be a while and come join me for lunch so we can talk business."

"How do I know you won't kill me there?"

Bryn shrugged. "I didn't kill you here."

The Jarl's shoulders fell. "Leave me."

"But, sir!"

"I said leave me!" the Jarl snapped.

"I guess I'm not the only one who doesn't like to repeat myself," Bryn said smugly and the Jarl flinched. The steward slowly retreated and Bryn gestured Jarl Soren to follow.

When they got to the cave, Harold was adding wood to the fire. He stood when Bryn entered, but the man waved to him to continue. Jarl Soren gave his son a pained look, and started when he saw Dyla standing in the corner.

She gave the Jarl a smile and said, "Food, Harold."

Standing up quickly, Harold went to cut bread and meat for Bryn and his father. "Yes, my lady."

Bryn guided the Jarl to two stones where they sat down. The huge man watched the Jarl shift uncomfortably on the stone. "No chairs here, Jarl. I need a house to have a meeting room, but that'll come in time. Then we can meet comfortably."

The idea of them meeting again made the Jarl feel sick. He cleared his throat and gained some composure. "As you pointed out earlier, I too do not like to repeat myself. So tell me, what do you want?"

Harold handed a plate to Bryn who didn't glance at him, then to his father, who looked at him, not taking the plate. Bryn remaked, "Come now, Jarl Soren, you know how nervous servants get when there are bad guests."

The Jarl turned red again but his son just gave him a pleading look and placed the plate on his lap before stepping away.

"As for what I want, well I want whatever I want. Right now, that's a home to stay in during bad winters, servants to take care of that home, and a Jarl that does what I say, asks no questions, and tells no tales."

The Jarl didn't touch his food as Bryn began to eat. "So, you want political favors."

Bryn snorted and swallowed. "No, you stupid man, I want to stay out of politics entirely. I don't want you complaining about your new neighbor to any of the Jarls or other friends."

Jarl Soren stiffened as he realized Bryn meant the king. A sly smile grew on his face. "Ah, you're afraid of my friends."

Bryn gave him a long look and the Jarl stiffened, there was no fear in this man's eyes. "I'm a practical man, Jarl. If I had to face the king's army, I would probably lose. Not that I wouldn't take out half, mind you." He grinned then the grin turned predatory. "And I'd definitely be able to make it to the rooms of a Jarl and ex-servant boy I knew."

He took another huge bite of meat, chewing slowly as the Jarl digested his words. Finally, Bryn wiped his mouth and stuck out his hand. "A home, some help, and some peace. Not such a terrible request, eh?"

The Jarl still hesitated and Bryn's face grew dark. "I've been very patient with you, Jarl Soren. Few places I've visited have had the chance you have now. Usually," he stabbed his knife into the hunk of bread, tearing it open, "I cut to the chase."

Blood draining from his face, Jarl Soren said slowly, "You are asking me to house and protect a murderer. To be neighbors with the man who kidnapped and tortured my son."

Bryn's voice raised a bit. "I'm asking you to be a Jarl and protect your people."

The two men stared defiantly at each other. "Harold," Bryn whispered, but it carried in the silence of the cave, "take your shoes off."

Bryn didn't turn, but the Jarl could see Harold take off his shoes, his toes curling on the cold stone floor.

"Did you do as I asked?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now do exactly as I say. Sit down."

The Jarl watched Harold sit down.

"Stand up."

The Jarl watched.

"Sit down. Lie down. Roll over. Stand up. Lie down. Stand up."

Harold scrambled, following each order as fast as he could, his breathing hitching.

"Lie down. Stand up. Jump. Sit. Stand."

The Jarl stood up, the plate on his lap clattering to the floor. "Fine! It's yours! Whatever you want."

Bryn didn't smile. Slowly he stood as well, placing his plate carefully on the floor. He stuck out his hand and this time the Jarl took it. "Harold?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go with your father."

Dyla watched the Jarl carry his child home. The boy clung to his shoulder, tears streaming down his face but his eyes stayed fixed on the cave, as if waiting for them to order him back. They disappeared into the trees.

Bryn sat down on the bed and Dyla joined him, getting behind him and wrapped her arms around his broad chest. She rubbed her finger into his tight shoulders and he reached up to touch her face. His shoulders began to shake and the low rumbling laugh she loved so much came and he fell into her lap. "Now I just need an architect!"