The next morning, they took the Jarl's son. Bryn knew when the boy slipped out of the manor to torment his playmates. They ambushed him in the alley, Bryn simply knocking him out with his large fist. Then, with the body hidden under Bryn's large fur cloak, the couple walked out of the town and into the wilderness.

They returned to a cave they had stayed in prior to coming to town. It was in the mountains and hard to find. Dyla set up camp, creating a ring of stones for the fire and unpacking the pots and pans they used for cooking. She hung their waterskins near where she rolled out their bedding while Bryn took the large bucket they'd bought in town and returned with it filled along with an armful of wood for the fire. The whole time, Harold, the Jarl's son, was unconscious, tied up and unceremoniously dumped in a corner.

Upon returning and seeing the boy still out cold, Bryn turned to Dyla, stopping her from setting up the fire. "No, now you are a Jarl's wife."

She looked at him confused, his steely eyes were fixed on the boy who was beginning to move. Dyla remembered their conversation before and swallowed. Her instinct was to get things done, to take care of herself and Bryn, could she play the part?

Bryn, seeing her struggle, frowned and leaned down to whisper, "Then do not talk to him."

She nodded. Let Bryn break the boy. She could do that.

The boy groaned. Then he tried to move. Then he swore.

After he struggled for a few moments, Bryn walked over and viciously kicked him over. The boy yelped and could now see Bryn's huge form looming in the darkening cave.

"Ow! Hey, let me go! My dad's the Jarl and he'll have you beheaded! You'll—"

The boys tirade what cut short by Bryn boot. Blood poured from Harold’s nose and his cheek began to swell. His eyes filled with shock.

"You do not speak unless spoken to."

Harold was not used to this and he started to threaten again, but Bryn kicked him in the stomach, leaving his gasping.

"I do not like to repeat myself. If you cannot control your tongue, I will cut it out."

Harold wheezed and looked up at Bryn, not sure yet if he'd go through with that threat. Dyla knew he would.

"Do you understand?" Bryn growled.

The boy didn't answer and Bryn kneeled, grabbed the boy's hair, and yanked him off the ground. "I asked you a question."

"Ah-ah yes!" the boy squealed, wriggling in the ropes. Bryn gave him a shake that made the boy cry out again.

"'Yes sir' you mean."

The boy's pride couldn't take this and Dyla was shocked when he spit on Bryn. At the back of the cave where neither could see, she bit her lip. But Bryn just put Harold down, pulled out his knife, and forced the boy's mouth open. His eyes rolling with fear, Harold bit down on Bryn's fingers, but the large man didn't remove them. His knife ran down Harold's teeth until he froze. When the steel touched his tongue he made a choking sound. "E' 'ir! 'E 'ir!"

Bryn sheathed the knife, removed his hand from the boy's mouth and slapped him with his bleeding fingers.

Harold stayed on the ground, spitting out blood from his nose and from where he bit his tongue. Bryn muttered and healed his fingers. Before stepping back towards Harold who flinched and whimpered. Bryn cut the ties and the boy immediately curled into a fetal position, cradling his swollen and red cheek.

"Get up."

Harold didn't move until Bryn took another step towards him, then he scrambled to his feet, tears, snot, and blood running down his face.

"See that wood?"

The boy nodded and Bryn glared until he yipped, "Yes, sir!"

“Pick it up.”

Still crying, Harold walked over and carried a few bits of wood to the fire pit. His captives watched him struggle to stack them.

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"Now light it."

The flint and steel were by the fire pit where Dyla had placed them earlier. Harold grabbed them awkwardly and tried to light the pathetic pile of wood. It didn't work. He just sobbed and created sparks.

Bryn gave Dyla a look and nodded. She steeled herself, threw her hands in the air, and said, "By the Stars, you really are useless."

Harold looked up startled, noticing her for the first time. Hope glinted in his eyes but she sneered at him. "I'll show the brat how to do it. But first," she looked at his snotty, slippery hands, "go throw him in the river."

When Harold returned, clean but wet and shivering, his cuts stinging from the cold water, Dyla knelt down and quickly showed him how to stack the wood, fill it with kindling, light it, and tend it to a roaring flame. Harold inched close to the fire, holding his pale white fingers to the warmth. Bryn kicked him away.

"What do you say?"

Harold scrambled back up and glanced at Dyla who had her arms crossed and looked down at him disapproving.

"Oh, thank you," he sputtered.

Bryn took a step closer and Harold backed up. Growling again, Bryn said, "Is that how you address the woman of the house?"

A flash of contempt returned to Harold's face as he glanced at the cave and Dyla, a small sneer grew uncontrolled to his lips. Bryn walked by him and kicked the back of his knees. Harold collapsed and Bryn’s large boot forced his face into the floor.

"Well?" he growled.

"Yes, my lady. I'm sorry, my lady. Please, sir!" Harold began to cry again but Bryn's boot lifted.

Dyla, acting as Jarl’s wife-like as she could, showed Harold how to make a basic stew. Once the stew was finished, the boy poured some into his captor's bowls, slopping a little and earning another growl from Bryn.

Harold put the ladle back in the pot and waited, eyes shifting nervously from Bryn to Dyla and back. Bryn didn't look at him as the boy's eyes bored into his broad back, he just said, "You're dismissed."

"B-b-"

Harold looked yearningly at the stew. Dyla laughed coldly, "After today's performance? Not likely. And if you can't do it tomorrow, you'll have nothing then too. Now go."

She waved her hand to the corner where he'd been tied up. Harold stood there, jaw hanging open for a moment, before slowly turning and walking away. He paused in front of the cave entrance. It was obvious he was considering running.

Thwak!

One of Bryn throwing axes, wedged itself in the dirt at the entrance. Harold spun around but Bryn was already back to his dinner. He walked to his corner, curled up, and cried himself to sleep.

The next morning, Harold was woken by a swift kick. His dazed eyes looked up.

"Hey who—" When his eyes focused on Bryn's form, the boy swallowed his words with a gulp.

"Go start the fire."

Harold groaned, his muscles seized in the ball he'd slept in on the hard stone floor. Bryn growled.

"Y-yes, sir!"

Slowly and painfully, Harold stood and started the fire. It took a while and it wasn't as perfect as Dyla's, but it worked, flaming up to cook their breakfast. After serving Bryn and Dyla, Harold stood again by the fire, waiting. Biting his lip to keep from talking out of turn. One eye had swollen shut in the night but the other was locked on the food.

Slowly, Dyla and Bryn ate their fried eggs. Then when they were done, they handed the scraps to Harold. With initial repulsion soon overcome by hunger, Harold gobbled up the leftover eggs.

He'd barely finished before Dyla had him refill the waterskins and wash the dishes before ordering him to follow her to the river. There she taught him how to do laundry, leaving him with a pile.

"Finish those and wash yourself while you're at it. And make sure you come back with the bucket filled."

Harold looked nervously at the laundry, Dyla's demonstration having been quick. She coughed and he snapped back to her. "Yes, my lady."

She nodded and walked back, leaving Harold alone and hoping for his sake he was smarter than he seemed.

He wasn't.

After being left alone, Harold drank deeply from the river, cried a little, washing blood off his clothes. He attempted the laundry and was finishing his second shirt when it occurred to him that he was alone. He glanced nervously up and down the river. He knew the river went by the fort. Went to his home. After another nervous glance around, he ran.

Bryn let him run for an hour. Then he materialized from the trees and grabbed the boy by the neck. Harold screamed and Bryn held him close to his face.

"Now, now, Jarl's son. I'd thought you'd be smarter than that." He pulled off his belt and Harold screamed again.

Dyla shook her head as Harold limped back into the cave, folded laundry in his arms. He winced each step but he placed the clothes carefully on Dyla and Bryn's bed. Still limping, he left to get the water. Dyla could see the red welts on his back as his wet shirt clung to it.

She hoped he knew he'd been lucky Bryn had expected him to run. They were three hours by Bryn's pace from the town and there was no way Harold would have made it anyway. He would have died of exhaustion, fallen off a cliff, or been eaten by wolves before ever getting home.

Two days passed, Harold getting better at his servant role. His swelling went down and he only earned a few more kicks throughout his time in the cave. He was jumpy and obedient, exactly as Bryn wanted him for his grand reveal. The Jarl's men had been combing the woods, getting further and further out looking for Harold. It was time to deliver the message.

On Harold's fourth night missing, a handaxe thudded onto the town stable where the stablehand found it the next morning with a note tied to it. Quickly it was taken to the Jarl.

Jarl Soren, meet me at the north turn of the river at noon. Bring guards if you wish for bloodshed.

The Jarl gripped the paper tight and his wife sobbed behind him.