POV: the-stranger
Summary
John's "I am a wizard" lands on Sefawynn without explaining anything; she has neither word — wizard, magic — and asks what those are. He fishes for an equivalent and gets to *runian*, "one who writes," via "wise man," "scholar-philosopher," "topiary critic," and a frantic invocation of Merlin. Myrddin, she corrects, and decides this confirms her Waelish theory. Fine. He moves to a proof: arms raised, he commands his skin-camouflage layer to turn them blood-red — and discovers he has forgotten the shortcut. Sefawynn observes that there is a shooting star, and a constellation that looks like a bear. *Fascinating.*
She grabs her lantern and walks. He hurries after her, trying to wow her with his ability to see in the dark while simultaneously navigating menus and walking into a shrub. He extricates himself. "See in the dark, eh?" "I needed some berries. Wizard business." He finally hits the secret command, gets his forearms a stark crimson, and holds them up in triumph — to which she answers, without breaking stride, that this is madder-root dye, she has watched it done a dozen times, and what is next? Staff into snake? Pretending his skin is iron with a fake knife? Oh wait, he tried that one already. He protests it was her brother's knife and trots after her, accidentally running an inventory of every grift she has him for.
She rounds on him. She is *sorry* he feels disbelieved when he already admitted he was a charlatan, *sorry* this is so werging hard on him, *sorry* about his unrelentingly awful day. He pulls up. She walks on. He calls after her that he is sorry about her brother, that he wants to help. She stops, doesn't turn, says she and Wyrm are poor, there is nothing in it for him. He doesn't need paying. He knows the men who did this, knows their weapons, knows how to counter them, and is going after them either way. She glances back. He adds, for good measure, that he is pretty damn good with a lie when he needs to be — "you could use that." She gestures pointedly at his hands. *That?* He counters that she believed him aelv at first, snaps his fingers, and returns his arms to skin tone. *That*, she finally allows, was impressive. Don't tell her how. She will figure it out. Come on then.
On the walk back he asks if he should let his beard grow, to be less conspicuous. She eyes him and tells him to stay clean-shaven; a beard will not save him, and at least like this his strangeness looks intentional and ethereal, which will buy her time to escape him if she ever needs to. She also tells him that his hands are not feminine in the way he thinks it is an insult, and reminds him that some Weswarans believe women are more than just men who failed to grow large enough. He is, she concludes, an exceptionally strange person.
He tells her his travel-name will be Runian. John West is a tad obvious for a dimension Ulric is watching. She points out that "Runian" is like naming a smith Smith. He says he has met several people named just that.
Inside the courtyard, Ealstan has three horses ready, plus what John takes for a mule. Sefawynn presents him as the aelv who has insisted on joining her journey. John performs: he has had a *glorious* time on this visit, the mortals' scrambling for his trinkets has been a delight, *alas*, the monster has stolen a thunder weapon of his people, his father the prince of the aelefs has tasked him with retrieval and chastisement, he must regretfully abandon the game. He snaps his fingers and turns his hands crimson. *For vengeance.* This is the message his father sent. Sefawynn, behind Ealstan, wobbles her hand. *Maybe pushing it.* What does she know. The thegn is impressed, particularly when John snaps his hands back and gives him a shushing wink.
Ealstan, however, will not let her ride alone — the boy was taken from before his hearth, the strangers ride for the earl, and it is his duty as host and thegn to deal with them. He kisses his wife, who steps out with an axe and a shield. He straps the weapons to his saddle. Sefawynn bows her head; as he wishes, then. While the fourth horse is saddled for John, John packs his recovered handbook pages into the saddle's fold, and notices Sefawynn cross to the great stone in the centre of the courtyard. She rests her hand on it and traces the carvings — runes, the kind from fantasy games. He could swear they glow softly under her palm, then decides it must be the lantern. He asks what it is. Ealstan, pained, asks if he must mock them. The runestone has a proud history, the thegn says — it binds and pacifies the village's wights even now. Please. Don't mock that, at least.
Mounting is its own indignity. Both Sefawynn and Ealstan swing up expertly. John stands beside his white horse with suspicious eyes and contemplates the foot-in-the-foot-thing. The thegn calls advice. John, recovering, claims to have ridden on the Wild Hunt and once crossed the sky on a rainbow made solid, but those involved aelef mounts that handle like the wind, and this beast does not seem to respect him. Use a strong hand! the thegn instructs, then gently gives him the practical version: the horse will follow his, don't pull tight unless he wants her to stop, don't yank unless he wants to see rainbows again.
Ealstan looks to the skop. She nods. They ride out as first light blesses the path, and John — who has made friends (well, companions), found out his name, and figured out why he came (stop the men with the industrial-sized chins) — generously upgrades his own rating to two and a half stars. Not bad for a dude without a beard. Hopefully the next step will involve remembering why the hell he came in without backup, weapons, or proper equipment.
*The End of Part One.*