Age of Faith

Episode 12's

Hot and sticky from her ties, unbalanced gait with the mop under her arms, Annyn stepped into the large hall. He stopped at a scene that did not welcome him: a falling tankard, an overturned bench, a quarry strewn with dirt, a face-down drunk, a dog scrambling for bones.

None of these things should be abundant in a place where there are no women. Squire and yard move quietly between tables as they serve coworkers and bosses.

As for the people who ate, the spoon did not drip over the trench and the food did not color the beards of people whose faces were old enough to have whiskers. The voices were loud, and, unlike Annyn, everyone inside wore newly washed tunics and hoses and their heads were without hats.

It is hard to believe that these are the same people who have worked in the field of training. It's hard to believe that this was Wulfrit's doing. But them and that. Unless he makes himself sweat into a hallucination, the hall of Wulfrith is perfected, though Uncle always says— He pushes past a sense of loss.

He had said that, without women, men were an uncivilized group destined to run alongside beasts. But the same cannot be said of those in the hall of Wulfrit. A stab at her side, she clamped the bond through her tunic before recalling Rowan's warning.

Lowering his arms, he set his gaze on Wulfrith who filled his master's seat—guard over his shoulder, a knight sitting to his left, a priest sitting to his right. A priest in Wulfen? Although he was convinced that Wulfen was the lair of the devil, he did not consider it to be a boasting man of God.

But then, it was at Wulfen that Jonas found his faith. From this guy? The broken mop tore him through his tunic, he regretted his hasty attitude to the decision to hand his corpse over to Wulfrith. He will perform for everyone, not just the ones he expects to be found in the midst of chaos.

He glanced over his shoulder at the bodyguard who stood as a porter in front of the door. His face reflected shock as he looked at his burden. Now his eyes are dancing. "Squire Jame," the frightened voice halted its steps, "what did you bring to my hall?" Why isn't Wulfrith blind for a while longer? He pulled the hat from his head and put it under his belt.

Although he felt watched by everyone, it was Wulfrith's gaze that caught his attention. Standing higher, his thighs and calves ached from his feud with the mop while crossing the hall, he climbed onto the pulpit. A movement over Wulfrit's shoulder drew his attention to the bodyguards on his back.

The young man's presence signifies he holds the coveted position of First Squire, just as Jonas did before his murder. The pain of his death was never far away, he looked to Wulfrith. "My master, the mop has been brought to the ground."

He stepped forward and lowered his burden. It rolled over on the tablecloth and stuck to a plate of food. Displeasure darkened his eyes, Wulfrith lowered her cup and clasped her hand in front of him. “Your words are enough.” "But you hardly know me, My Lord." And you'll never do it. "Why do you trust strangers?" "For what?" snapped it. “Agar my good table was not breached.” Missing the cover of his hat, he said, “Sorry, My Lord. "It wasn't meant to offend." Liars.

But it's better the kitchen than here. Still, he had to ask, "You don't want me to pour wine?" His nostrils are widened. Although he had attempted to move her towards anger, he was stung with fear. "And jeopardize my good health?" His voice was too flat for comfort. It was your own thing, Annyn scolded herself.

Such behavior would not only make his time in Wulfen more difficult, but could also be a barrier between himself and revenge. He had to get closer to Wulfrith, and instigating it wasn't—means doing it. "I'll wait for your call, My Lord." As he turned around, his eyes met the eyes of the knight beside him who was also taken care of by the bodyguards— like all the knights who sat at the high table.

The man had a resemblance to Wulfrit. A relation? With grim gray-green eyes, cleft chin, and tightly clenched lips, he should, though he was somewhat younger and his hair color could not be known for being scratched from the skin of his head.

Surprisingly, the next knight also bore a resemblance, although his hair was dark brown and did not show the slightest hint of silver color. In contrast to the man beside her, her eyes twinkled as she struggled to maintain the stern expression on her face. Sisters? He did not remember being told that Wulfrith had it.

Tightening his grip on the mop, he considered the next man. Although she wished she also had a resemblance, she was eliminated with a narrow face and sleepy green eyes. Still, he was strangely familiar, and that familiarity slipped fear through him.

Where'd he ever see her? Could he have recognized her? If so, it was not visible in the eye that swept him before returning to his trench. He stepped off the pulpit and met with the gazes of bodyguards, courtyards, and knights as he dragged the mop across the hall. They witnessed his progress, faces reflecting disapproval that were overwhelmed by amused.

How they must have wanted to laugh, but they kept their humor in their twitching eyes and mouth. Annyn raised the mop on the fire, then wiped her hand with her tunic and turned to the corridor which, she guessed, headed to the kitchen.

There are two corridors. Unfortunately, he did not pay attention to the bodyguards and the courtyard with their food plates, and, for the time being, no one came or went. He rubbed his sick flesh through the ties. Which corridor will take him to the kitchen? He decided to leave, but the moment he entered it, a bodyguard carrying a steaming meat pie came towards him. "The wrong way!" snapped it. He hugged the wall as he passed by. Both corridors lead to the kitchen, then? One to get out, one to get in? He's never heard of anything like that.

Shortly after, Annyn entered the kitchen. Huge cauldrons were hung on the fire, grocery shelves filled the walls, barrels and barrels stood around it, a dozen tables filled with bottles, he said, and the tables work with the bodyguards and the yard. “For what did you come to my kitchen?” someone barking. He easily found the fat man standing on the right. Fist at the hips, mouth conical between the orange-red beard, the cook stared at him. "Mr Wulfrit sent me."