After the evening meal that night, Wulfric huddled in his corner, trying to massage the aches from his shoulder. Dismas squawked and fluttered up to the edge of the hearth as Halvard dropped a short stool in front of him. The northman held out a small cup to the monk and indicated he take it. Wulfric took a small sip and nearly gagged. It was vaguely related to the ale he had drank at the monastery, but far, far stronger. Halvard laughed and took a long draught from his own larger tankard. He waited until Wulfric gathered his wits before setting his cup on the ground and folding his arms. "You will now teach me how to read your marks."

Wulfric's mind raced. "I can try. But I think it might be best to teach you a few more words first." When Halvard scowled, Wulfric hurried to explain himself. "You see, that way, you can recognize the shapes of more letters and know the sounds. If you already know the words, they'll be easier to write and spell."

Halvard thought about this for a moment. "Teach me the words you see fit, and then at the end of the lesson, show me their marks."

Wulfric started by reviewing the words he had taught Halvard in the field earlier that day, writing them out in the dirt with a stick as he did. He then moved on to simple greetings and phrases, though Halvard started to seem overwhelmed and grow frustrated when he wrote out longer things. By the end of the session, Wulfric was mentally exhausted, but Halvard could introduce himself in Kalosian and could name a few household items and farming tools. Halvard looked between Wulfric's writing and his own more shaky script and nodded slowly, trying to commit the words to memory.

"One last thing, priest. Show me how to write my name. I know southerners conduct their business by signing contracts. I do not wish to seem a savage by not knowing my own name."

Wulfric muttered a silent prayer hoping that Halvard spelled phonetically, and scrawled it in the dirt. Halvard practiced this several times before looking up at Wulfric again. "Now do yours." When the monk complied, Halvard took his stick and gestured between the names. "These two marks, they are the same."

"Yes, we both have an 'L' and an 'R' in our names." He quickly wrote Dismas's name as well. "See, Dismas and I both have the 'I' sound, and you both have the 'D' sound."

Halvard scowled down at Wulfric's name. "But how do I read your name?"

Wulfric realized that over the past four days, Halvard had not only never referred to him by name, but he had also never asked for it. "It says Wulfric."

"Wulfric the priest, then?"

"Well, technically," Wulfric replied, "I'm not a priest. I'm a monk." He had to say it in Kalosian.

"What is this word, monk?"

"Arcean priests are called Shepherds. They lead the congregation," Wulfric cringed as he used the Kalosian term again. "Sorry, the people, in the mass. They administer the sacraments, I mean the rites, and lead the prayers to Arceus. I'm just a monk, which means I can't administer rites but I study Arcean scripture and copy manuscripts, like you saw in Coumarina. I offer my life in service and devotion to Arceus in the hope that I can better understand His great majesty."

Halvard nodded slowly and then shook his head. "I don't get it. If you could be a monk, why not a priest? That sounds like a better deal."

"That was not what I was called to do."

"You're a monk… because your god told you?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"So Arceus came down and said 'Wulfric, I want you to—'"

"Oh, not this again. No, I just felt it." Wulfric put a hand on his chest. "I heard his words in my heart."

"Now what is Arceus doing in there?" He could tell Halvard was just teasing him now. The northman took a long drink from his tankard, and some of the foam clung to his beard and moustache. Ragnhildr's Kirlia came up behind him with another cup and he took it with a smile, patting her between the rounded pink antennae on her head. "Thank you, Valdis." Halvard stared into the fire. "You know, Ragnhildr was telling me earlier that I am much too easy on you. If I'm kind to you, I will make you soft. I think she saw our little chat in the field today. Skaldi says I should beat you. I think he would enjoy that."

"Maybe don't listen to Skaldi?"

Halvard chuckled. "No, for now I won't listen to Skaldi." He took a drink. "But you know, I never really had the knack for talking to thralls. I never needed to. I'm Halvard Sigurdsson! The jarl's son, the prince! Everyone just did what I asked them to anyway!" The northman's shoulders slumped. "There are days when I wish I was not the jarl. I wish I had been born a farmer."

"Because the burden of leadership is heavy?"

"No, I like to be the leader. I like to command my men and for my name to echo like the Storm Bringer's wrath. I just wish I felt like I'd earned it myself." Halvard took another long drink, and Wulfric could tell that the ale was beginning to affect him. "Everything I've ever done was always just brushed off because of who I was born to. If I win glory, it's because I'm the jarl, because I'm Sigurd's son, because I am Harald's nephew. When I was a boy, it was because I was the prince. Of course I did great things. That's what princes do."

"You were a prince?" Wulfric asked. "Am I understanding that rightly? In Kalosian, prince means the son of the king, the heir to the throne of the realm. Is it different in the north?"

"No, no," Halvard drank again and waved Valdis over for another tankard. "You have it. I was not the king's son, but my father was his brother. King Harald ruled the northlands, but when his wife and son were killed, he vowed never to marry again. He was my uncle, and because I was my father's firstborn son, he named me as his heir. I was to be the king." He broke off and twisted his lip, brooding in silence for a time before slamming his fist down on his knee. "And then the usurper Ingmar killed my uncle and my father and made himself king. He told me that I could keep Rovngalad if I only swore fealty to him, and now everyone knows I'm the prince who lost his kingdom just to save a tiny village." Halvard gritted his teeth. "No one understands that if I hadn't made a bargain to save Rovngalad, he would have killed me and burned the whole village to the ground. My village! I wish I had been a farmer. Farmers don't have to choose between pride and their subjects."

"Some men are born to be more."

"Maybe I was born to be king. Maybe I was born to be a farmer. But I wasn't born to be jarl. That was always Torvald's calling. He's the warrior, the one who knows how best to lead a raid, what to demand in trade. I'd just strike out into the mountains or across the sea and leave the title to him, but he doesn't care for the people like I do. He doesn't love Rovngalad, he lusts after it. If I was king, the title would fall to him, and all this would be resolved." Halvard threw back another drink. Wulfric had lost count of how many the northman had, but he was certain it was more than he had ever seen anyone drink in one sitting. "So there's only one thing that can be done, Wulfric. Do you know what that is?" The monk shook his head. Halvard smiled the northmen's predatory smile. "We have to take my title back. We have to make me king again."

"You could do that?" Wulfric cried.

"Maybe. I have the six fastest ships in the north and the best boat builder in generations. Every person of fighting age living in Rovngalad is a warrior worth at least two of Ingmar's dogs. And I have a few secret weapons. The first I have is Torvald, the mightiest warrior in the north. He wants me to be king as badly as I do, and I can use his selfishness. Then, because I have Torvald, I have Jarn. And finally, I have Uthald. There isn't a man in the north that isn't afraid of my sea monster. He's the only reason Rovngalad hasn't been razed. I've sworn oaths before gods I don't believe in. I've sworn oaths to my people, to my family, and now to you, Wulfric. I'll be king again someday, and I will cast Ingmar down! I swear it on my blade, on my life, hell, I'd even swear it on that ring around your neck if you thought it would do any good!"

Halvard threw his tankard down and leaned in. "Listen to me, Wulfric. This is my land, but I only hold it in trust for my people. This hall we sit in is mine in name, but I don't fool myself. It's really Ragnhildr's. I own only three things in this world." He counted off on his fingers. "The first is Steinarr, the second is Uthald and third," he pointed at Wulfric, "is you. Uthald and Steinarr have faith in me. I know it the same way that you know Arceus speaks to you. So tell me Brother Wulfric, do you believe in me? Do you have the same faith in me that you put in your god?"

Wulfric knew it was blasphemy. He knew that the oaths he had taken years ago explicitly said that his loyalty belonged to Arceus alone, and that Arceus was to take precedence over any king, lord or cause. And yet, Arceus slumbered in his hall high above far away Sinnoh, and here in front of him was a man that Wulfric could feel was destined to change the world the same way the great saints of the Arcean faith changed the world. Wulfric knew that it was the greatest sin a monk of Arceus could commit. And Wulfric found that he did not care. "I do. I believe in you, Halvard. I will follow where you lead."