THE chieftain of the village, Aksel, called a council that evening to more formally discuss the news the dragon ships had brought as well as decide, no doubt, where the dragon's men might go faring instead. Ulf could not decide whether to feel relief at the news that his homeland was at last free or to lament that he had not been able to redeem her, enslaved as he was in enemy land. The news of a council was no surprise to him—indeed, he had expected it—but Eluf's dark mood at the hearing of it did catch him off guard. Even if the initial warhosting had gone awry, it did not mean the Danes could not venture elsewhere and find better success.

But Ulf suspected there was something deeper and far more terrible behind it, that Eluf's anger was not so much that their travelling so soon in the year had been in vain, but that he had been unable to wreak the havoc he desired in Ulf's homeland. Always he had hated Ulf, hated Bjarke for bringing him and for being so kind to him, hated especially that Bjarke trusted him and treated him like an equal at times instead of an enemy and a thrall. Ulf had never understood it until now, though he hated Eluf enough for his cruelty, but Djal's words of Eluf perhaps being baseborn would explain that. Ulf could understand the bitterness that might lie there, were he in Eluf's place, but that did not explain the malice with which Eluf treated most people. Even Ulf's hatred of Eluf would not drive him to behave so towards others who had done him no wrong. But perhaps, like Djal's words had proven, he knew far too little to give fair judgement.

"What does Aksel think he will say? We all know what happened. The shame we faced is despicable. No son of the dragon should suffer so and let his enemies live." Eluf spat into the fire, earning a sharp retort from Harothel of nearly marring her fine copper cooking pot.

Ulf remained hidden in the shadows, listening and saying nothing. He had already finished his stew, eating little of it for the twisting sickness in his belly at Eluf's presence. What little peace there had been beneath Bjarke's roof was long since fled.

"'Tis for the sake of the thing," Bjarked reprimanded, his voice calm like a breath of a sweet southern wind upon the stormy northern sea. "No doubt Aksel wishes to learn of the full tale before deciding what course of action to take."

"And what might that be?" Eluf raised a brow, polite mockery dripping from his lips like honey from an overfed bear. "Aksel did not venture with us himself. He will advise us to move on from this course, just as he advised us to ignore Nuith's summons, and we will be considered cowards in the eyes of all our enemies and in the eyes of other settlements, us who have long dwelt in the homeland rather than sail to distant shores. It is not to be born!" He set aside his empty bowl of stew, his face dark in barely veiled anger. "There is no purpose in joining this. It would be better to make our own course of action."

"And cast aside years of tradition and respect for our elders and the wisdom given to them by the gods? Such are the makings of a fool. They will not let such deeds go unpunished, and nor will I." The words were soft, but Ulf could not ignore the chill that slithered across his spine like a snake preparing to strike at a moment of weakness. "Do not force me to withhold your inheritance," Bjarke added, poison lacing his voice.

Eluf rose to his feet, towering over his father who sat in his great chair, working his mouth as though words might spill forth if he did not repeatedly bite and swallow them back.

Ulf tucked his feet under him, his hands clenched, his weight balanced on the soles of his feet, ready to spring. The hair rose on the back of his neck. His senses were flooded with the crackle of hungry flames, of the simmering bubbles of the stew, of the rain falling softly outside. Of Harothel's eyes darting from Eluf to Bjarke in fear that Ulf had never seen her wear before. Of the quick rising and falling of Eluf's chest, in the flaring of Bjarke's nostrils as he fought to keep his breaths even. Of the bounding of Ulf's own heart within his ears.

But Eluf only turned on his heel and left the longhouse, the heavy curtained door falling to behind him.

"Come, my wolf," Bjarke growled. "Best we join the council before we enter in late." Before Eluf has time to spread his lies, were his unspoken words.

But Ulf was certain that Eluf's lies had long since been sown. Nonetheless, it was best that they were not fertilised with his latest imagined hurt. Bjarke was not the sort of man to make idle threats.

~~~

They were not late to the council, though Eluf was already seated in one of the better places, his companions gathered around him like a shield ring. Their faces alike were sneering and cold, though they showed due respect to the elders around them.

Ulf guided Bjarke through the settling midst of village men, a few of them showing a seat where the man might rest. Ulf did not hearken to their greetings, focused solely on making Bjarke's passage as painless as possible. His wounds always ached when the weather was wet and stormy like this. And though Bjarke had never been the sort to take his anger out on another, Ulf did not wish to cause him further grief after what had passed at supper. He did not desire to find out what Bjarke might do if pushed too far. Bjarke had a great temper, no doubt where Eluf inherited it, but his rage was kept in check. For now.

Once seated, Ulf took his usual perch at his feet, leaning back so that his face was in shadow. This way he might view the expressions and persons at the council without exposing himself. Especially if they were to discuss Scotland. It had been hard enough to endure in previous councils. He did not wish to suffer so again and have Eluf mock him for it, for what little might escape his control.

Aksel entered their midst, wearing the chieftain's fur robe and carrying with him the chieftain's staff. He addressed them all with the usual greeting and sat down in his great chair with dragons carved into the arm rests, his staff loose in his hands. His carriage was of a man at ease, his words merely form and habit, and Ulf could sense Eluf tightening as if straining against a leash.

But the council could not start yet.

A moment later, the chieftain's maidservants entered the place, led by his daughter Asta. Asta was tall for a lass, her form lithe and slender. Her hair was dark like a raven's wing, pulled back into many braids, and thick brows were set heavily over grey eyes framed with long lashes.

Ulf might have considered her pretty, even as one of the enemy, but she would never look kindly on him, though they would have been equals had he not been taken captive years before. She would only ever see him as a thrall, and besides, despite her fair appearance, her heart was as cold as stone and her anger as swift and hot as lightning. Even now, as her gaze met his, her ruby lips curled downward in a disgusted sneer, and she turned away from him.

She might be a good match for Eluf, Ulf mused, as he watched Asta and the other maids pour the barley beer into the drinking horns of the assembly. Both were cruel and calculating, both hated him, and both would pursue their own interests regardless of what it might cost others. But Asta might want someone more honourable than Eluf, were he baseborn or not, and Eluf had never shown any interest—unlike the other young men in this village. Perhaps that was because his ambition was enough for him. He was more concerned with earning honour in the eyes of the village leaders than their daughters' hearts.

Bjarke nudged Ulf, dragging his attention to the present and away from Eluf who had taken the drinking horn from Asta without a second glance.

Bjarke offered Ulf a drinking horn, but Ulf shook his head, slipping further back into the shadows.

Eight years, and he had never grown to like the barley beer, so different from the fire-hearted mead of his homeland. The taste disgusted him and besides, he would need his senses to be clear tonight. This council would determine the fate of the village that summer, and Ulf wanted to know what it would be.

"Sa," Aksel began once his daughter and the other young women had left. "The warhosting in Scotland went awry?"

Ulf glanced at Eluf, seeing his jaw clench in anger.

Malthe cleared his throat and straightened, the fire casting strange shadows upon his battle-scarred face. "We came in good time to the western shores, strong winds at our backs, and no storm clouds in the sky." His words were lyrical and soft, like a harper about to tell his tale, but his voice was rough-edged, white scars on his neck from a near mortal blow years before. "We landed upon the shores to find the land held against us and our blade brothers captive by the enemy. Their host was too great to fight against, even as many as we were, and so we submitted to their demands for surrender and left the shores, promising to not return again or else face trial and death."

Had Malthe intended to say more, his words were cut off by many of the men swearing or banging their fists upon their arm rests. Eluf let out a particularly colourful oath and spat into the fire, but it went unnoticed by them all save Ulf.

Eluf met his eyes, as if he had felt him staring, and his gaze hardened, a thinly veiled threat writ across his face.

Ulf turned back to Malthe, who was now answering Aksel.

"And those were their terms? Are you certain?"

"In so many words, aye. I did not see the purpose in wasting our men for a hopeless victory when we might find better luck elsewhere. There was nothing to be gained, not even an honourable death, for the quarrel was not our own, even as you had said when we first received the summons."

Ulf could not be certain, but he thought perhaps a flush darkened the raw-boned features of Aksel. But it might only have been the flames and shadows dancing together.

"Aye, so I did." The words sounded as though they were drawn out of him like a needle pulling thread through leather, stiff and resisting. "And I believe that you made the right decision," he added after many more moments had passed. "Best to seek more favourable winds and shores than waste men for a pointless struggle."

"Then why go at all?" Eluf muttered under his breath. But Ulf heard it, and so did many others, judging by their expressions of bitterness or even shock at his daring to gainsay the chieftain.

"Eluf, Bjarke's son," Aksel addressed him, straightening in his chair, his staff suddenly upright and firm in his grasp. "Do you mean to say that I ruled wrongly? That Malthe should have chosen otherwise?"

Ulf felt Bjarke stiffen beside him, his anger no doubt rekindling within him, fed by shame like dry wood to burning twigs. But he said nothing in the proceedings, his eyes harshly bright in the firelight.

"I believe we should have immediately struck for other shores, if we would not have put up a fight when we landed on Scotland's soil." Eluf edged towards the fire, almost as though he would rise to his feet. "Why return here, wasting weeks of good sailing weather? Since when have we become cowards, scurrying home with our tails between our legs like a beaten dog to hide among our women in shame?" Eluf's voice rang out in the air like the blast of a horn.

The silence that followed was so acute that one could have sharpened his knife upon it.

"Is it cowardice, Eluf, Bjarke's son, or wisdom?" Aksel's voice was soft, but a dangerous warning lay within his words.

Ulf had heard his own father speak so in the midst of angered men in years long ago. He hoped for Bjarke's sake that Eluf would pay heed to it.

But Aksel had not finished.

"Malthe made his decision as he judged right in the circumstances, and I believe he was right to do so. Aye, the ships could have immediately sailed elsewhere, but he chose to bring news back to us and replenish supplies, so that when the ships set out once more, they would be better prepared against stormy weather or to sail to far distant shores.

"I do not believe there is any purpose in arguing this point further. Best we set our minds to where the dragon shall fly to next. But as for you, Eluf, such challenges to authority is not a thing to be overlooked. I do not blame Bjarke, for he has ever proved his valour and loyalty to me and my fathers. It is you who must answer for your misdeeds, for you knew better than to challenge your chieftain and rebel against the judgements made by your ship's captain. And so here is my judgement."

Aksel rose to his feet, his staff now pointed at Eluf. "The ships shall sail again this summer, but you shall not go with them."

Ulf's heart sank to the earthen floor beneath him.

"Instead, you shall serve as we see fit, we who will not go adventuring this year. Should you offer a word of complaint or commit any act of rebellion against this judgement, you shall face worse punishment, even that of leading to exile. Should you be faithful in serving your sentence, you may go out on a short voyage at the end of this summer, but you must redeem yourself first by the laws of our people. Is this a fair judgement?"

"This is a fair judgement," the other men echoed, Bjarke most firm among them.

"Will you hold Eluf to this judgement?"

"We will hold him."

"Will you submit?" Aksel asked now of Eluf alone.

Eluf's eyes were fixed upon Aksel, a storm warring in their depths. He set his mouth, swallowed hard, and bowed his head as though forced down against his will. "I submit," he said, his voice low.

But it almost sounded like a snarl.

Ulf inhaled sharply, glancing around him and seeing all the others watching Eluf, repulsion on their faces.

"So be it. This is my judgement."

Aksel set the staff down upon the floor thrice, each bang sounding in Ulf's mind like the ring of the hammer upon his thrall ring, chaining him to his fate. Aye, it was Eluf being punished and not himself, but it was as good as thralldom to know that Eluf must be in the village in the coming months, free to let loose his anger as he wished upon Ulf, who was only a thrall.

Life had been hard, to bow and submit to the enemy, even though Bjarke was a fair man, but now it might prove unbearable. What freedom Ulf had possessed was now slipping away like the ebbing tide. Eluf would be sure to see Ulf's days were made harder, no less because he too was kept here now against his will.

Aksel returned to his seat and the murmurs of the men rose again like an evening breeze as they spoke of the sea venturing to come.

Ulf heard little of it. His gaze was fixed upon Eluf, who returned him stare for stare, malice gathering about him like a garment of shadow.

A chill whispered its way down Ulf's spine. It did not matter, Aksel's judgement, nor the terms Eluf was now bound to. Eluf knew how to torment him away from the eyes of other men, and he would surely do it where he would not be caught. For anger was rising in Eluf like a waterfall crashing into a deep pool, frothing and foaming, barely concealed as his grip tightened around his drinking horn, nearly crushing it into pieces.

Eluf might be injured, humiliated before the men of this village, his claws filed down to prevent striking out.

But Ulf had long since learned that the wounded animal was the most dangerous. Eluf still had his teeth to him, and Ulf knew well how sharp they were.

He dreaded to feel his bite.

So yeah. Life happened. Haven't updated this chapter in awhile. I had to figure out some plot issues for the beginning. And the WriteforLife February Fables challenge is helping me get at least 5K new words for this book. :P 

This is extremely rough draft. I apologize. But I hope you enjoyed anyway. ;-;

Thoughts about what might happen next? <.< Let me know in the comments! Thanks so much for all the support. <3