Sigurd smiled as he carried a bucket of water by hand to the dilapidated farmhouse that served as their new home.

Compared to the tower, it was a pile of refuse. Compared to any normal home… it was a pile of refuse. The old farmhouse had been gutted by a fire sometime in the past and left uninhabited. Yet, half the building had been left uncharred and with their combined magics it was enough. The structure was reinforced to basic safety and the windows boarded over, making it lightless but warm. As he stepped into the farmhouse, though, Sigurd had to repress the urge to sneeze. Nothing could clear away all of the old soot.

Mentally shaking his head – what a terrible hovel – Sigurd carried the water to the makeshift kitchen. It was actually just plastic basins to hold water and wash dishes in, and a brand-new Number that was serving as a stove. Esme was currently trying to peek inside, a difficult task since she'd made it of stone.

"If only I'd had some glass." Yes, a familiar plight. Sigurd carefully set the water aside – it had been knocked over before – and came to her side.

"It should be another ten minutes or so, I think," Sigurd said before sniffing the air. Hmm, it smelled good but not quite what he would expect if it were done. As he waited patiently for the food to finish, Sigurd glanced through the door of the 'kitchen' to the other room they inhabited. A decent bed, stolen from the thrift store, and many warm blankets. A single wicker chair with an old cushion. That was all.

It's no worse than how the peasants lived, in my day and age. Sigurd knew that. He'd lived that way himself as a child, sleeping on a tatty cot on an earthen floor, with plenty of blankets to ward off the chill. And yet… By modern standards, it's nearly uninhabitable. Only desperation made it acceptable.

Unfortunately, desperate was what they were. Esme had money now, quite a good bit of it, but the modern era had all kinds of ridiculous things like passports and personal identification codes. As a former King, Sigurd saw how useful such things could be. They would certainly make it easier to keep track of taxes! But they were damned annoying now, when he and Esme lacked then and Sigurd didn't dare leave to try to fix the problem.

"Oh, it's done!" Sigurd's attention snapped back to the food as Esme withdrew it with a stone utensil and some fireproof mitts. The pizza that came out was absolutely perfect, the crust nicely crisp and the cheese seared and melted. "Oh, it looks so good!"

"Delicious," Sigurd murmured as Esme carefully set the stone on top of the magical oven. Then she reached for the pizza cutter. A few quick rolls of the little metal wheel and the pizza was neatly separated. They had simple china plates and Sigurd took his share, smiling as he saw the pepperoni that was nestled within the gooey cheese.

They both settled onto the floor to enjoy their meal. To Sigurd, the pizza was really quite familiar. Toasted bread with melted cheese, with butter and fresh herbs, had been a marvelous meal when he'd been alive. And cured meats were a common thing too, although they'd usually had that on the side. The only thing about the pizza that was entirely foreign was the sauce. Tomatoes had not been available when he'd lived.

"The only thing that could make this a bit better would be some salty fish." Sigurd murmured. He thought that would go excellently well on the pizza.

"Oh, then you should buy some anchovies, you would like those," Esme said and Sigurd smiled as he saw a slice of her share had already vanished. His princess was still a bit indifferent to food, but it was much better than it had been. "Sigurd, have I told you how happy I am?" She looked marvellously happy, her eyes glowing and her smile bright. Still, Sigurd felt a qualm.

"Despite the living conditions? We don't even have a shower." Sigurd took a mouthful of his pizza, wondering what she would say. Esme seemed to be adapting well to the circumstances and it honestly surprised him. That seemed to redirect her thoughts, though.

"Oh, I was thinking about making one!" Eh? "I've been designing a pump and scavenging the metal out of the ruined parts of the building for the piping!" Ah… really? "I think we should set it up outside, in an area with good drainage. I've been checking the soil and the contours of the land and I put up some stakes, I'll show you later." Sigurd thought this was what made Esme's mind truly unique. When she was planning something, she thought of everything. Oh, she could make mistakes and miss something, but not very often. "And I was thinking of putting a special holding tank with a heating spell so we can have warm showers as well! I'll need to make it so the hot water and cold water mix in a way controlled by the tap but I'm sure I can do it." Well, he was sure she could as well. And Esme was absolutely glowing as she went on about her plans.

This is why she's so happy. Sigurd had an epiphany, as he gazed into Esme's smiling face. Because she is making things, not for someone else, but for herself. Esme was taking joy in solving all her problems with her Numbers, being self-sufficient and for Sigurd it was beautiful to see. I am so honored to be part of this.

Then all pleasure vanished and Sigurd carefully set his pizza down as his wards twanged.

"Oh… that's…?" Esme's voice was suddenly soft again, almost inaudible and she set her half-eaten pizza down. Sigurd nodded, pulling himself to his feet and materializing his armor.

"I'll take care of it." Those were his outer wards, the intruders were still a decent distance away. But, not surprisingly, they had been found. Esme nodded, trusting him completely.

"You're ready but I'll keep watch," she pledged and Sigurd nodded before heading out purposefully. It was time to teach the magi who dared intrude on their lands a lesson.

As Sigurd moved easily and soundlessly through the woods, he reflected on it. It was no surprise that the magi had found them. The critical fault in their wards, that could not be mended, was Esme herself. By longstanding tradition, the families of seal designates were not required to assist the Clock Tower in finding them. But Esme's family were the ones after her and the blood tie could not be denied. It required powerful scrying spells, with Sigurd's wards in place, but ultimately they would be penetrated.

Knowing that, Esme and Sigurd hadn't bothered to move about in an effort to lose the pursuers. Instead, they had created their Territory, the mystical fortress that any Caster laid claim to. Sigurd glanced at a tree, feeling a deep satisfaction as he saw the rune carved in the trunk. The fools had given him over a week to settle in. Unless they'd brought multiple powerful Servants, they were doomed.

There was nothing like that. Sigurd stalked them carefully – he owned some forest lore, as well as his tarnkappa – and soon realized he was dealing with a small group of hired mercenaries. And some of the things they were saying…

"Remember boys, we're required to rough her up a bit," the one Sigurd had pegged as the leader said. His eyes narrowed and then one of the others spoke.

"How far can we take that?" Sigurd tensed. Did that mean…? From the disgusted look the leader shot to him, he thought it did.

"Not that far. Just beat her up a little." Sigurd made a mental note to give the man the courtesy of a quick death. Although that was all he would grant them.

Sigurd didn't bother to challenge them or give them any pretense of a fair fight. There was no point, not with merely mortal men. He made the tarnkappa vanish before tearing right through them. Sigurd killed all of them but one, who barely put up a fight before being overwhelmed.

"Wh-what… what…?" The mercenary was wide eyed as he looked at the imposing figure above him. Sigurd had no true interest in speaking to the man, though, so he traced a rune.

It was very easy. The man was just barely a magus and did not have a strong mind, unlike the leader that Sigurd had killed. He was certainly no match for a Caster on his own ground. Sigurd snared his mind with air runes and began asking questions. In a short time, Sigurd had what little information he man owned… which was not much at all, except for one interesting tidbit. The one who had commissioned them was not Esme's father but rather, her brother. Her father was dead, a victim of the now masterless tower.

I cannot tell my princess that. Sigurd knew that with cold certainty. His kind hearted princess would not have meant to kill her kin, she just hadn't been thinking. Or rather, she'd just been thinking of how they needed to take the tower away from them for safeties' sake, not the likely consequences.

The only other useful thing he learned was that Esme was not a Sealing Designation yet. Her family had no idea how Esme had used the Grail or her true capabilities, and they thought of her as a helpless, unworldly little girl. Easy enough to take back.

It will be weeks before the Clock Tower moves. That was marvelous. By that time, the Territory would be a death trap to intruders. The only thing that worried Sigurd was the possibility that they might engage Chaldeas to send Servants, but there would be a few unsuccessful attempts before they resorted to that. That would give Esme time to create Numbers tailored to Servants.

Sigurd ended the man's life with one quick thrust of his sword, feeling nothing at all as the man gurgled and died. He made Gram vanish – the easiest way to get rid of the blood – before considering the corpses. No, it was too much trouble to burn them and they did not deserve the honor. The forest animals could do for them. Abandoning the scene, Sigurd went back to the farmhouse.

He wasn't surprised to see Esme picking at her pizza, her face pale and her gaze far away. Sigurd settled back in across from her, picking up his plate of food. It was cold now, what a shame. Well, it would still be delicious.

"Don't worry princess. I won't let them take you back," Sigurd assured her before taking a bite of the food. Esme blinked before focusing on him.

"I know, I was just thinking." About what? Sigurd might have asked but Esme continued. "Sigurd, can I go with you to the town the next time we go shopping?"

"Do you want more cookbooks?" Sigurd gently teased as Esme blushed. She had a huge collection of books now, piled in the corner of the sleeping room. A large number of them were cookbooks, since Esme took her duties seriously. "Of course you can come." In a way, it did cause problems for him. This was a small village and Sigurd stood out. When Esme was with him, the attention seemed more negative. Sigurd sometimes wondered if they thought he was perhaps a kidnapper. Esme didn't help, with her fear and fascination. Still, despite that, he would never deny her. His princess needed the human interaction if they ever hoped to overcome that.

"Oh thank you!" Esme's smile was brilliant and he felt warmed by it. Then she was applying herself to her food again and Sigurd was very pleased to see it looked like she would finish it. Ah, things were improving, they truly were. And they would improve again if Esme could actually make them a shower. What else could she make? Sigurd wondered as he munched through the crunchy crust.

He would be delighted to find out.

Sigurd walked through the cells, his stride as heavy as his heart.

I didn't want it to come to this. He'd held out hope, until the very end, that the blood debt might be paid. Although the man himself had warned him, although the auguries he'd cast had all agreed, Sigurd had been unable to give up hope.

Inside the cell, the man was sleeping as he always was. Sigurd paused at the door to regard him. A tall, lanky man in fine wool garb, clearly noble from the little gold stitching on the hems. It was dark brown and suited him very well, matching his hair and beard. The beard made Sigurd smile because his prisoner was clearly one of the men in the world who would be better off clean shaven. The beard was a terribly scraggly thing, thin and ill-trimmed. It had been well-trimmed before they'd taken him but prisoners were not given knives.

Sigurd cleared his throat and that small sound made the war prisoner lazily open his eyes. They were light blue at the moment but Sigurd had observed them to change as the man's emotions shifted. What color would they be soon, he wondered?

"Ah, you again," the man sat up with a yawn, scratching himself beneath his rib. "Have you received a reply yet?" Sigurd swallowed as calm eyes met his.

"I have," Sigurd said heavily, feeling the weight of the news on his soul. "The messenger came back today. It's as you said." The man sighed and lifted himself from his cot, walking towards the door of the cell.

"I knew it would be. My brother will inherit now, after all." That wasn't a good enough reason! "What will my fate be then?" He rested a hand in the bars of the cell and Sigurd swallowed before squaring his shoulders.

"The priests have decreed that you be given to Odin as a sacrifice," Sigurd said quietly and blue eyes shifted towards grey as the man's expression became grim. "Although I did insist it be done by the common ritual." Some of his men might have favored the blood eagle, for the horrible troubles this man had caused them. Yet to Sigurd, that punishment should be reserved for traitors and this man had never been that. No, a strong and clever enemy that deserved respect for his wit and skill, no matter how underhanded.

"Ah, well. It cannot be helped," the man said with a small sigh. "Please send my sword back to my wife." For Sigurd, that was too much, particularly since he knew that woman was carrying a child…

"Perhaps I can – " that was as far as he got before his arm was seized in one hand. Sigurd was caught by surprise and stared into stormy grey eyes. So much darker now, like the clouds before a powerful thunderstorm.

"Don't say it. Don't even think it," the man warned and Sigurd swallowed at the iron in his tone. "You cannot cheat the gods of their due. They are watching you, man with a Valkyrie bride." Sigurd's thoughts were unpleasantly reminded and he glanced around, looking for ravens. You never knew where they might be… "Dragon slayer or not, you're still an uppity mortal to them. They might demand you take my place." Sigurd knew he was right. That was exactly the sort of thing they might do. Odin favored him but the favor of the gods was like a candle in the wind. "You would also do a great disservice to your people. You cannot do that to do them." That… was even more pressing, to Sigurd's mind. The words grounded him, helping him to find his centre again.

"Thank you," Sigurd said with a small sigh and the man smiled before letting go of his arm. "I regret that we were born enemies." What things could they have done together? The man laughed, a soft chuckle.

"I regret that as well, but it is what it is. Good luck to you, son of Siglund." A reminder of why they were enemies and Sigurd appreciated it. He left the dungeon feeling, not happy, but settled and resolute. Tomorrow, that man would die and Sigurd would mourn his passing but it simply had to be.

It was hard, but it was also right.

Sigurd woke from his dream with a light start.

Why am I dreaming of this now? Sigurd wondered as he stared into the darkness of the room. His eyes slowly adjusted to the nearly lightless conditions and he could make out the roof, with its' bare wooden beams. Ah. Yes, of course. It was nothing he'd expected but Sigurd knew why this past was coming back.

Turning onto his side, Sigurd looked at the sleeping woman beside him. Esme's face was a white oval in the darkness, her eyes closed and her face at peace. Her chest rose and fell slowly, a soft rhythm and Sigurd reached out, his hand hovering over her face but not daring to touch. Her hair was spread out across the pillow, a gentle tide in the darkness.

Esme, my love, I am sorry for this. Instead of touching her fair skin and perhaps waking her, Sigurd traced a rune. The basis of it was Air, but then he combined it with Life. Sigurd carefully adjusted the pattern, using the knowledge Esme had given him as well. That made the rune more precise and soon he was satisfied. Esme shifted slightly, disturbed by the soft blue glow… which faded to nothing as Sigurd released the rune. It drifted over Esme in tiny motes, doing one simple, harmless thing… erasing any memory she had of her dreams this night. I cannot let you know this side of me. Sigurd wanted his princess to remain innocent, believing in the purity of her prince.

Sigurd meant to remain in bed but he found it hard to sleep. He finally slipped out of bed, materializing his armor as he slipped out of the home. A quick check of the wards satisfied him that Esme was safe and Sigurd summoned Grani. He gently patted the horse, giving his faithful steed affection before mounting and riding through the woods. Grani picked easily through the forest, following a small deer trail. It would take them where they needed to go.

The place he was going was a great ash tree. It hadn't been sacred to Odin and the old gods when he'd arrived, but Sigurd had fixed that, working the runes into the bark without harming the tree. Now it glowed with mystical energy and the leyline was actually moving, like a river pulled from its' banks. It would settle beneath the roots of the ash tree, nourishing it and making it something much greater than it was now. And yet…

The final sealing must be of blood. Sigurd rested his hand against the trunk of the ash tree, feeling the fine grain of the bark beneath his palm. And it must be a worthy sacrifice. The men he'd killed so far had not been worthy. He needed a true leader of men, someone with great skill at arms, a man worthy of going to Valhalla. The old gods may no longer exist but the power of the ritual remains. This was ancestral magic, tied to the history of this land and Sigurd knew the sealing would work. When that was done, his mana source would be a great and mighty river.

As he stood beneath the ash tree Sigurd heard a rough caw. He lifted his head to see a dark bird flying away and felt a trickle of dark, primal dread. Shaking that away – Odin's birds were dead and gone – he stepped away from the tree and called to Grani.

The woods were filled with omens tonight. It was time to go back to bed.