[The British Isles, Northumbria, Lothian, April of 793]
William and harold walked beside their horse while old women rode the horse. William had formally requested that Ealdorman Beornwulf allow him to take all the survivors, the widows and children, with him to his new lands as working hands.
The reality for these women was often miserable and brief. Most would seek to remarry as fast as they could for protection and legal status. If they couldn't secure a new husband, they became a burden on the community or the lord.
They often ended up as unpaid labor, pushed to the margins of society, vulnerable to starvation, mistreatment, or disease until one claimed them first.
Now, a sad, slow procession followed William to his new lands. More than twenty middle-aged widows and a dozen children, boys and girls alike, shuffled in the dust behind the horses.
"Lord Gwyndolin," Osric said, gesturing to the rolling, empty landscape that surrounded them. "Your land grant is the settlement we call Hillsyde."
He pointed to the main building, a smoke-stained hall atop the most prominent rise.
"It is a high ground, sir. From that great hall, you can see clear to the edge of the Lammermuirs themselves. Any Pictish warband attempting to cross the southern passes into our lands will pass through your sight." Osric started his horse moving again. "Come, it is time to meet your people."
William followed Osric down the rutted track. The land around them was silent, a vast, empty canvas of rolling hills. The Picts hadn't just raided; they had scoured this place clean.
Not many settlements in this frontier region had survived the deep push into Northumbria; most of the population had been killed or enslaved and taken away.
They rode into the remains of Hillsyde: a collection of burnt-out longhouses huddled within a dilapidated stockade. The gate hung from a single, splintered hinge. It was "manned" by two boys clutching spears twice their height and one sweaty, corpulent man.
They all stared at William wide-eyed; his fearsome ornate armor covered in blood and mud and his warhammer made a horrible first impression.
Osric inclined his head towards the pathetic scene. "Sadly, it is as you see, Lord Gwyndolin. You will have to work with what is available until the Ealdorman can allocate more people to your land, if he can."
The fat man, seeing their approach, shuffled forward, suppressing his fear, wiping his hands on a dirty tunic.
"Greetings, my lord," the man said, his voice a rough monotone. "I am Eadric. I was the reeve here, and I suppose I still am, of what little remains."
He paused, gesturing around the ruined settlement with a broad sweep of his arm. "We have thirty souls left who can work the land, my lord. thirteen women ten men these two boys, five old men and me The pigs, the cow, and the remaining tools are accounted for. We wait on your command."
A cold weight settled in William's stomach. This was not the beginning he dreamed of. The thought of running back to Beornwulf was more appealing than ever, a warm hearth replacing this cold ruin, but he suppressed the urge.
He straightened his back, taking in the full measure of his new, broken domain.
"Eadric," William commanded, his voice firm despite the knot in his gut. "Gather everyone in the hall. I need to see them now."
"right away my lord."
"Oh, and Eadric, take these people. Make sure they are fed, clothed, and rested. We will have a lot of work to do."
Eadric looked at the refugees and frowned. "My lord… feeding so many will strain our stores."
"I know. But I said feed them."
"Yes, my lord."
"steward osric join us; we will be having a feast." William offered a compulsory invitation to osric frankly he disliked the man he felt he was arrogant, but luckily he won't have to deal with him for long.
"Thank you, my lord, but I must go and survey the remaining lands. Good luck, and God be with you," said osric as he bid them goodbye and turned his horse to leave.
"God be with you, too. Safe travels."
William led Harold, whose excitement couldn't be hidden. His master was now a lord, so what did that make him? Harold didn't know, but it must be very noble.
William knocked in his head, "Settle down. Don't get too excited. You will work hard to rebuild this land."
"Yes, sir!" shouted Harold in excitement. "I will work very hard to fix our land!"
"Let's go then." With that, William led Harold to the main building. Inside the broken hall, William sat on the ground with Harold, waiting for the reeve to arrive with the others.
Soon, people began arriving outside: women, children, and men, all wearing grim looks. Their losses were too severe to hide. When all had gathered, the reeve stepped forward and knocked on the hall door.
"My lord," Eadric called through the splintered wood. "Everyone is ready to meet you."
William rose again, pulling the door open. He stepped out onto the threshold, towering over the assembly.
The giant figure clad in blood-stained iron struck immediate fear and resurrected bad memories in the broken villagers. They flinched, confronted by the sheer violence his appearance represented.
William ignored their fear and walked back inside, leaving the door open for them to enter the smoky, cramped hall. He took a commanding position near the main hearth.
The villagers shuffled in hesitantly, eyes fixed on his massive warhammer. Once they were all inside, Eadric and the new refugees mixed among the existing villagers, and William raised a hand to silence the murmurs.
"Now," William began, his gaze hard and demanding, "we must take stock of who we are and what we have lost. Order is the first step toward strength."
"I need three groups. Those of you who are whole families, husband, wife, and children—please move to the left side of the hall."
Slowly, hesitantly, four small families shuffled across the floor.
"All of you who are widows or single women responsible for children, please gather on the right side of the hall, near the wall."
A larger, quieter group of women moved to the specified spot. They gripped their children's hands tightly, their faces etched with uncertainty and fear.
"Finally," William said, his gaze settling on the few remaining figures, "if you are an orphan or alone in this world with no kin here, stand by the center hearth."
Eight girls of varying ages and seven boys moved to the center of the hall, including the boys who were manning the gate.
"Good," said William as he rose. "my name is Gwyndolin Blackfyre i have been appointed as your thegan."
He paused, letting his foreign, perhaps intimidating, name settle in the silence.
"To be honest with you," he began, his voice rough and direct, "when I first saw the state of this place at the gates, the ashes, the broken walls, the ruin, I wanted nothing more than to turn my horse around and leave."
A wave of shock rippled through the assembly.
"Killing raiders is simple. It is easy, and it is rewarding work," William admitted plainly. "That is far easier than trying to rebuild this place from scratch while defending it, and you, from more raiders."
He let that brutal honesty hang in the air for a moment.
"But unfortunately, under God and the King, you are now my responsibility. This land is my charge, and that means I cannot let you die or starve. You are mine to protect."
He swept his gaze across the hall, making eye contact with the women, the families, and the orphans.
"We have no choice but to work together to make this place livable, and more than that, formidable, for a frontier village. I will be your shield, but you must be the hands that till the soil and rebuild our walls. We survive together, or you perish alone."