Life got harder in Hjor. With so many supplies once more being sent south and more being called for each week, the people had little left for themselves.

Yet at Bryn's estate, life continued unchanged. A month after the war had begun, a man had arrived with a cart of goods and gold. He was a rough fellow, covered in scars and with a wooden leg and hand. He had spoken with Ulris briefly and left the cart and a letter with him before mounting his horse and riding off.

The letter was from Bryn. It was addressed to Ulris and as much as she wished to, Dyla did not ask to see it. Ulris summed it up for her nonetheless. Bryn had begun a new venture in his words. Between the lines Ulris guessed piracy, making money off raiding both sides of the war. He calculated the estate would be running short of supplies and arranged a schedule of deliveries from his new 'business'.

The ongoing wealth of the estate did not endear it to the belt-tightened townsfolk. This too was predicted by Bryn and with the third shipment came two hardened men who stayed in the estate, guarding it and their master's—or captain as they called him—treasures. They stayed clear of Dyla, awkwardly nodding at her in respect when passing but generally staying away from her.

This if anything, cheered her, for if his men stayed away that meant she was still his. Each day she awaited his return, determined it would come. But the war raged on and Bryn stayed away.

Three long years passed. The Duskar were driven back and the captured Jarldoms retaken. To Jarl Soren and Dyla's disappointment, Jarl Hurson survived. However, he and the High King were no longer on pleasant terms.

Most of the coastal Jarldoms were in bad shape, they demanded help from the capital in rebuilding and refortifying but the capital had not had the chance to replenish its riches from the civil war and could not help. The High King tried to appeal to the landlocked Jarldoms but only succeeded in earning their ire as well as they demanded in turn restitution for the aid they had given already.

It seemed for a while that the kingdom would fall into another civil war, but Jarl Hurson and Jarl Maelif of Taka drafted an agreement that the king was half-forced to sign. Instead of gold and resources, the king gave the Jarls rights and power. The Jarls had the right to draft their own laws and hold their own private forces. Facing another potential civil war and doubtful he would survive it, the High King reluctantly signed.

This played right into Bryn's hand. More of his men arrived at the estate along with orders to add a blacksmith and an armory.

The twins had just turned nine when Bryn at last returned.

He arrived alone, slipping into Hjor during one of winter's long nights. He entered the estate, the guards eyeing him warily before giving salutes and grins as they recognized their leader. Quietly, he entered the bedroom.

For a moment, he watched her sleep in the darkness, her pale blonde hair, like a halo around her face, almost glowed in the moonlight filtering through the curtains. He sat on the bed, his weight rolling her onto her back. She stirred and he placed his large hand on her cheek. Her eyelashes flickered and he saw her shoulders tense.

"My woman, I am back."

She sucked in a breath and slowly raised her hand until her fingers intertwined with his. She didn't open her eyes. After a moment, she whispered, "Am I dreaming, my lord?"

At his rumbling laugh, her eyes opened and she sat up turning to take him in. Her eyes glistened but she let no tear escape. She brought his hand to her lips, kissing it gently. He pulled her in, his strong arms pressing her into his chest. Their lips met and for the first time in nearly seven years, they made love.

When Dyla awoke she could still hardly believe it was real. The sun was just rising and as the room lightened she slowly made out Bryn's features. His beard was a bit longer and wound into more braids. A few hairs at his temples were grey and she realized she didn't know his age. Gently, she ran her fingers over new scars, her heart aching to think that she did not know their stories.

He also had a tattoo, a bear on its hind legs, its mouth open in a roar showing its large teeth bared threateningly from the left side of chest. It was surrounded by swirling sharp designs that carried on up and over his shoulder. She jumped slightly but smiled when she realized his grey eyes were now open and watching her.

"It suits you, my lord."

Bryn reached and pulled her towards him, their lips met just as there was a knock on the door. Dyla pulled away slightly. "It's just Nelly," she breathed before wrapping her fingers in his long hair and returning to the kiss.

The knock returned harder, more frantic, and Dyla sighed as Bryn pulled away, sitting up and reaching for his shirt. Dyla got out of bed and slipped her nightdress back on. Walking up to the door, she opened it halfway.

"Tell the cooks to prepare breakfast in the hall, Nelly, and—Stars!"

Nelly was pale-faced and twisting the fabric of her skirt, her eyes nervously shifting to both sides of the door where two of the burly men sent by Bryn were standing and leering at her. Dyla, realizing the men must have been guarding the door through the night, composed herself and gave Nelly a stern look. "Go on. And have Ulris come here right away."

She stayed at the door until Nelly had rounded the corner and one of the men muttered something and chuckled. Dyla started to close the door but it was caught by Bryn's huge hand and flung open. He had put his clothes back on, minus his fur cape and as he emerged the man straightened and lowered their eyes.

"Sir," they said simultaneously and Bryn stared at each with his steely eyes until they squirmed.

Finally he barked, "Gyrl go tell the others I'm here and that I will coming to inspect them by afternoon. Tor go and find me a skin tracer."

Both men shot off to their respective tasks and Bryn returned to the room, sitting at his desk as if he had never been away. Dyla closed the door and dressed herself, finishing as the unmistakable rap of Ulris's knuckles sounded from the hall.

"Come in," Bryn rumbled and Ulris stepped in, bowing. Any surprise at seeing Bryn well hidden.

"Welcome home, sir. Will you be speaking with the Jarl today? Or examining the estate perhaps?"

"Neither. Though I do have some additions I need added." Bryn walked to where his pack was discarded at the foot of the bed and pulled out a leather tube. Removing the top he slid some papers out and smoothed them over his desk.

At Bryn's invitation, Ulris walked over to inspect them. After a few moments, he straightened. "It will of course be done, but there may be a small problem." Bryn's eyebrow raised and Ulris continued, "The land between the back of the estate and the river is part of the Jarl's plan for his wall."

Bryn laughed. "I guess I'll be talking to old Soren after all. Send word to him that I'll be over this evening." He snorted. "A wall, seems the Jarl's been doing well for himself."

He waved Ulris away who bowed and left. Dyla slipped her arm in Bryn’s and they walked out to breakfast.

At the sight of Bryn, the children stopped eating and stared. Bryn chuckled and barreled over, scooping them both into his large arms. They glanced at their mother. Fenrin looked confused and Lyra was down right suspicious. Dyla slipped her arm into Bryn's again and leaned against him as he examined his children. "Your father is back."

Fenrin's eyes widened and he pushed against Bryn's chest in order to get a better look at him. Lyra was quiet, watching her father with her intelligent green eyes. Bryn asked the twins questions, what they'd been up to, how they had grown so much, and soon Fenrin was chatting away with his father. After breakfast they ran off to show him their favorites places and Bryn told him he'd be there in a moment.

As they left the room, he turned to Dyla. "I am glad they are doing well."

Dyla nodded, although there was a cold lump of uncertainty in her stomach after watching Bryn with the twins. The feelings and worries that had caused Bryn to leave were tied in a complicated knot with the children at the center and Dyla desperately wanted to know what Bryn had planned. She bit her lip. Before the twins, she had never questioned Bryn. I hadn't mattered what he would do because she would follow no matter what. But now...

"Fenrin is still the stronger, but that girl is sharp." Bryn nodded approvingly at the door the twins had disappeared to.

"Sir." Ulris spoke up Bryn and Dyla turned to him. "I'm told you requested this man."

He stepped aside and a thin, lithe man with dark skin and tattoos covering almost every inch of his body entered the room. Dyla had seen him before, among the dozen men that lived in the east part of the estate. Bryn's small army.

Bryn nodded. "Yes I did."

He waved his hand and Ulris left and the man came forward, placing two fingers on a small tattoo on his shoulder. It was like a salute and as he removed his fingers Dyla saw the small image of a bear there, the same bear that graced Bryn's chest, albeit smaller and simpler.

Bryn, seeing her examine it spoke, "It's my mark. All my people have it."

Dyla sensed where this was going and although it was unexpected, she accepted it. Bryn explained to the tattoo artist what he wanted and the man led Dyla away, leaving Bryn to go find his children and keep his promise.

The process took hours, the last painful touches being made as the sun dipped towards the horizon. The design was identical to Bryn's but stretched across Dyla's back, swirls curling along her shoulder blades and knotting designs dipping down to her tailbone. The man covered her back in a thick salve and tied bandages around her. Nelly was brought in and given strict instruction on how to care for her newly adorned mistress.

Dressed only in a light flowing robe, Dyla painfully made her way to dinner. Ulris and Diren, the leader of Bryn's estate men, dined with them so Bryn could discuss his plans. They were going to expand the blacksmith and small armory behind the estate, as well as fully dedicate the eastern portion of the manor to a barracks of sorts.

Bryn spoke easily and with a leaderly tone that Dyla had never seen before. Whatever paths he had followed these past five years, it had been with other men as their commander.

Dyla sat quietly, anxiously trying to find out from Bryn's words whether he planned to stay, but he never mentioned himself in the plans, only the estate. Finally, he stood and announced he was going to see the Jarl. Normally, Dyla would have stood and gone with him but she could feel the cracking scabs on her back. She was grateful when Bryn left alone and she could return to her room where Nelly removed the bandages to treat the reddened skin with more oils and salves.

Bryn marched up the road openly, enjoying but not acknowledging the shocked faces of townsfolk as they realized he had returned. At the Jarl's door, he reached for the handle, stopped by two crossed spears of two young guards.

"Halt. What business do you have with the Jarl?" One of them said, a tremble in his voice as he stared up at the large bear of a man. Luckily, Bryn was in a good mood and he simply laughed, grabbed a spear in each hand, and pulled them out of the mens' grasps before breaking them over his knee. Then he pulled the door open as the men fell on their rears and stared.

His loud voice bellowed through the manor, "Soren, you dullard, come welcome your neighbor!"

Servants scattered like a flock of sparrows and Bryn walked farther into the manor, enjoying the chaotic upset. He glanced at the empty throne and rightly guessed that the Jarl was in the dining hall which he burst into just in time to see the Jarl throw a goblet at his steward who was babbling about Bryn's return. As the Jarl's eyes met Bryn's he paled and the room grew deathly silent.

Bryn surveyed the scene. Serving staff, quickly slipping away into the kitchens, the steward frozen, wine pooling at his feet and soaking his boots. The Jarl's wife, her fork still suspended an inch off her plate, paler even than the Jarl. And then a third man, young with a handsome face, who was as still as the steward.

The Jarl's face twitched and his wife fainted, making the steward move and help the woman out of the room. Bryn chuckled, but his face grew deadly serious. The Jarl, to his credit, straightened and composed himself.

"Bryn."

"Jarl."

The Jarl reached for his goblet to drink but it was, of course, gone and he swallowed dryly. "I was unaware you had returned."

"Clearly. And I suspect you didn't think I would at all. I've heard some disturbing things from my steward about you. I heard tell you threatened my estate?"

The Jarl pressed his lips together. "Well, the war was a desperate time for us all. The king's men were suspecting..." His voice died for a moment as Bryn stalked towards him, his grey eyes predatory.

"T-they suspected I was not taxing your estate and I..."

Bryn lunged, grabbing the Jarl and pulling him clear out of his chair. His huge fist flew and smashed into the Jarl's face, sending him sprawling on the floor, blood dribbling from his cheek and lips. The sound of a chair screeching across the floor made Bryn turn and he saw the young man now standing, looking at the Jarl with concern. When he glanced at Bryn though, he froze again and recognition lit Bryn's grey eyes.

"Ah, Harold! It's been a long time, lad."

Harold gulped and nodded but when Bryn tilted his head expectantly, he clenched his fist and hissed, "Yes, sir, it has."

Bryn turned away from him and walked over to where the Jarl was clutching his face. He kicked his arm away and placed a boot on the older man's throat, pressing enough to make the man gasp and his fingers grasped the boot, trying to lift it in vain.

"Ah, Jarl Soren, you threatened my estate, my woman, and tried to build on my land. I'd thought we had an understanding, you and I."

The Jarl's eyes bulged and there was the sound of armored boots as five guards burst in the room. They took in the Jarl's writhing form and the huge man and, to their credit, they charged. Bryn moved his foot from the Jarl's neck to his chest and drew his axe. The first two men who approached were quickly cut down. An arrow pierced Bryn's shoulder but he paid it no mind.

Another man tried to get at Bryn but the huge axe cut deeply into his stomach and he fell, trying to hold his organs in. Another arrow whistled by but flew too high. The last melee man hesitated, clearly seeing his death ahead and reevaluating his loyalties. His hesitation allowed Bryn to sheathe his great axe and smaller axe whistling into the forehead of the archer. At his short death cry, the last swordsman dropped his sword and ran.

Slowly, Harold moved. He took a sword from one of the corpses on the floor and, with a dazed look, walked towards Bryn. His eyes flicked once down at his father and then back at Bryn. As he met those steely eyes he froze again. Then with a deep groan he took another step.

Bryn watched him until he was close enough to swing his sword before he moved, his foot lifting from the Jarl and swinging up to collide with Harold's sword hand. The blade clattered to the ground and Bryn's fist met his jaw. Harold landed on the floor but rolled forward. Adrenaline pumping through him, he collected his sword and lunged for Bryn who stepped aside and kicked Harold's back. After he fell, Bryn stepped on his hand, a crack sounding as Harold screamed and released the weapon.

Harold rolled over, clutching his hand to his chest, one finger stuck at an unnatural angle. Bryn returned to the Jarl who had gotten to his hands and knees and was crawling for one of the spears. He flew onto his back as Bryn kicked him.

"On your knees, Soren."

The Jarl gave Bryn a look of pure hatred, but Bryn didn't acknowledge the glance. After a few seconds when the Jarl didn't move, Bryn reached down and grabbed his greying hair and pulled him up, the Jarl's knees brushing the floor, but he scrambled to get his feet underneath him, refusing to kneel.

Bryn pulled him up more, grabbing his neck with his other hand and tossing him on the table. Plates and food skittered around, clattering to the floor. Beryl, took out his great axe again, spinning it so the blunt hammerlike edge fell down on the Jarl's right knee. The crackling sound of bone shards was drowned out by the Jarl's screams. Harold yelled and charged Bryn again, the sword held awkwardly in his left hand. Bryn raised the axe again over the Jarl and paused, his eyes meeting Harold's.

"Kneel."

Harold slowed, his brain firing back to his childhood. He had spent the last seven years trying to regain his dignity, trying to forget his time enslaved by Bryn. But now it came back, the last logical thoughts pleading for survival, reminding him that he would only die if he got closer to this man.

As Bryn's axe stayed in the air above his father’s neck, an invitation for Harold's obedience, he dropped the sword and fell to his knees, head hanging.

Bryn's axe lowered slowly and he placed it on the table, pulling the Jarl into a sitting position. Tears were streaming down Jarl Soren’s face and his eyes rolled in wild pain.

"Look Soren. Again you can learn from your son. I'm tempted to just make him Jarl, but perhaps I could be persuaded."

Harold, hot tears of shame stinging his eyes, dropped forward onto his hands and knees. He wasn't ready to be Jarl. Hjor needed his father, he needed his father. "Please, sir. I beg you."

Bryn stood there, watching Harold beg for a moment. Then he threw the Jarl's broken body on the floor in front of his son. The man screamed again as his shattered leg hit the floor.

"Take him. Thank the gods. I give second chances to very few and third to none."

Bryn took his axe and left the manor, dozens of faces watching him go, full of anger, fear, and horror. But no one stopped him.