“Right!”

 

Bearmane’s voice rang around the room, but for the first time since Marcus had known the man, he did not garner everyone’s full attention. Even Bearmane could not upstage…

 

“Dragons are myths, there’s no way someone saw one. Stop spreading stupid rumors.”

 

“They say it was as big as a mountain!”

 

“My aunt’s best friend’s dog's former owner’s cousin’s friend saw one two years ago in…”

 

“Do you think we’ll get to fight one?”

 

All this and more babbled on around the room. The only ones not talking about it were Marcus and, somewhat unnervingly, Koren, who kept looking back at Marcus with speculative eyes. Marcus cursed himself for making the comment about dragons when they had first re-met. He didn’t need that kind of…

 

“SHUT UP ABOUT THE BLOODY DRAGON!!”

 

This time Bearmane got the attention he had been fighting for. He took full advantage.

 

“You are STORMCLOAKS! You are here to kill IMPERIALS and bloody POINTS! The only thing that matters right now is that, at this point, most of you would have trouble fighting a mudcrab, say nothing of a dragon. We’re going to change that starting right now, so let’s get back on task.

 

“Here is how this is going to work: you’re going to take the oath and get dressed in proper gear,” he motioned toward the long table, “then we’ll get to work. Right, fists over hearts, repeat after me."

 

The oath was the same (with the notable absence of the terms “and sisters” and “and daughters”) and it made Marcus just as uncomfortable to think this oath might really be binding him beyond death. Which, to be fair, had happened, in a way.

 

In most respects, the uniform gathering was the same as well. The first couple of men picked up their gear and then stood awkwardly holding it until Bearmane yelled at them to get dressed. This time, though, they just shrugged and did so.

 

It was strange. Much like with the feeling Marcus had had celebrating the killing of the sabrecats with Koren, the lack of two genders in the group removed some undertone, some secret tension or hidden edge, that was not noticeable until it was absent.

 

What it might mean, he couldn’t say. Perhaps the removal of the interplay between woman and man helped cement the male bond; perhaps it removed a distraction, making for more focused soldiers. Although the male libido, unhooked, as it was, from emotional constraints, was a distraction in and of itself. No wonder there were always women at the camps.

 

Of course, the women in the camps in the past had mostly been slaves (or captured female soldiers, which amounted to the same thing). With that off the table, he wondered how long it would take before slavery was back, at least for the militaries. He couldn’t imagine a ton of women lining up to take the recruiter up on his offer. And there presumably wouldn’t be any captured female soldiers this time.

 

This did not bode well for the civilian women of the towns and cities that were sacked by either…

 

“Marcus!”

 

His name jolted Marcus out of his reverie and he stepped forward and took the bundle of familiar armor, then went back to his place and began to strip.

 

It may have felt something like home when Marcus put his helmet on, except she had spent more time as an officer (with their blessed open-faced helms) for the second half of the so-called “war.” He let out a sigh as he bid a fond farewell to his peripheral vision.

 

His was, just like in the trial selection, among the last names called, so by the time he was ready, the group was already moving. Marcus followed the newly-sworn-in Stormcloaks as they filed out into the training courtyard, then, as Bearmane began calling out names along with the Company they had been assigned to, planted himself close to Koren in some vain hope that proximity would sway the lots toward putting them in the same company.

 

“Koren! Company A!”

 

So Koren was in the same Company as before. Coincidence, probably – there were at least three fewer people this time (assuming the same group of people had shown up sans the other three women), so the chances of being in the same Company were…

 

“Francis, Company C!”

 

The name jolted Marcus and he looked around until he saw who he had expected. Francis Grey-Mane, aka Wooly, walked toward the area designated for his Company, looking for all the world like someone who wouldn’t betray his closest comrades. Anger and sorrow rushed through Marcus and he turned away. That made two Companies he did not want to be in – he didn’t think he could handle being in Wooly’s presence again.

 

Of course, that would still be much better than…

 

“Marcus! Company D!”

 

Marcus kept himself from swearing by only the thinnest of margins. He had to take two big breaths before forcing his legs to move.

 

Of course he was in Jaunty’s Company. Why make things easy the second time through this fiasco? Regret consumed him as he plodded his way through the courtyard – she should have just left once she was turned away by the recruiter. Too late now.

 

Of course, something had already changed this time. Well, something other than the million other things that hand changed. A rumor had started somewhere about the Grey-Mane’s motives for joining the war effort. A rumor that Marcus, himself, knew to be true – that they were planning on taking over all the mines they came across.

 

Of course, the family denied it, but the rumor was out there, which had not been the case last time. Someone had looser lips this time than last. Or someone else remembered last time and had started the rumor on purpose.

 

Which would have been a good idea, and Marcus kicked his internal self for not thinking of it himself. He could have been spreading malicious Jaunty rumors instead of bringing up dragons that no one would know about until three days ago.

 

Of course, last time the dragons had already been out and about for a few weeks before she joined, so…

 

Marcus shook himself out of the same circular argument he had had with himself at least a hundred times already. None of that mattered. What mattered now was that he was in the one Company that would be least helpful in ending the war quickly. In fact, he was in the one that was most responsible for extending the damn thing.

 

The two - the rumor and the Company - were related for him, Marcus realized: Jaunty had been the architect for the stalling of the war. Well, not the architect – the only thing that fop could build was a pile of shit - but the one put in position to set the real architect’s plan into motion, by sending Trendil’s Company into the bloody Reach. And, with foreknowledge of at least some of the plan, Marcus could take a cue from the presumptive rumor-starter and use what he knew to bend this new reality into one of a better shape.

 

Maybe he could get Jaunty’s ear; maybe he could sway him to help.

 

Or maybe, if the right circumstances came about, Jaunty might have a little accident and die an honorable death in battle and have no effect on the war at all. It was a lovely thought, one that brought the first smile to Marcus’ lips even as he stepped to his place in Jaunty’s Company’s group.

 

 

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