"His head, and you can have your peace. Him... Uhtred Ragnarson. A traitor."

Leofric's not quite sure why he moves to stand in front of Uhtred; indeed he's as surprised as Ubba is amused by the unconscious and innate desire to provide protection.

He reacts with violence to Ubba's provocation, feeling his way back onto safe ground, but does not change his stance; remaining positioned between the enraged Dane and his desired target until Ubba backs off to a safe distance.

"Lord, if I may. The arseling here is barely a man, and you expect him to teach me how to fight?"

Leofric isn't angry as such; he has known anger, and this is not it. Indignation is closer to the truth –indignation that Alfred thinks that this newcomer, this Dane, knows anything worth teaching him and his men. He can feel the young man's eyes on him, no doubt glaring daggers at his statement; confirms it with a quick glance. Fine, he thinks, let him.

"Leofric, I expect him to teach you nothing. Whip him with staves in practice by all means."

"Thank you Lord." He does not wish to think of whipping the man, with staves or not – he'd rather run him through with one.

But he has to accept the word of the King, and if the defiance in Uhtred's eyes as he stares him down kindles Leofric's interest, he doesn't yet have words to voice it.

It turns out that the arseling isn't half bad as a warrior. That doesn't stop Leofric from giving him a hard a time as possible though, of course; taking the opportunity to fight with him each time the sides oppose each other. But Uhtred doesn't give up, no matter how many times Leofric knocks him to the ground.

He watches the construction of the shield wall with grudging respect.

"I like it Arseling. I do."

If Uhtred's proud smile twists something within him, he doesn't let it show.

Aethelwold finally, finally leaves their table – stumbling off in a drunken stupor to likely try and find some poor woman to sleep with, if he can stay conscious for that long.

Leofric watches him go with undisguised amusement; turns back to find Uhtred regarding him across the table, as he has been doing all evening.

"I didn't know you were with the barmaid," Uhtred says, and Leofric detects something in his voice – closed-off, almost accusatory.

"I'm with anyone who wants me," he smirks, watching fascinatedly as Uhtred's eyes drop briefly to the table.

He swills the last of the mead around in his beaker before knocking it back. "I'd better get back to Brida," he says, already half-way to standing. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

A curt nod and he walks off into the darkness, leaving Leofric to watch him, and wonder.

Uhtred hears his approach; knows instinctively who it is. Who else would follow him this far out of the camp?

"I take it she has gone then?" Leofric asks, following Uhtred's fierce gaze out to sea. "I'm guessing that it's Alfred that kept you here?" After all, why else would the man stay?

"I sold myself for a mail coat and helmet," Uhtred says in response, tone bitter.

"That's what we do. We sell ourselves," he admits, catching Uhtred's small smile as he turns his head. "This year, what you've given to Alfred – it's not about a mail coat. It's about you." He wonders if Uhtred actually hasn't seen this coming. "The bastard thinks – didn't I say? He wants more than a year's service. He wants you to help take back England. All of England."

He looks back at the young man next to him, who returns his gaze. He at least looks unsurprised by this news.

"Of course, when the year's up, you could go back to the Danes," Leofric suggests, feeling Uhtred's eyes on him. "That would at least give me the chance to kill you."

Uhtred gives a small laugh and he wonders quite when the suggestion became a joke between them, rather than a serious desire. He cannot trace the moment; all he knows is that it has happened.

"But what would you be? Who would you be?" Leofric asks, genuinely searching.

He starts to walk away, but then Uhtred hears him stop, can feel without looking that Leofric has turned back to him.

"You coming?" he asks, after a moment.

No response, no movement.

He tries again. "Arseling. Come on."

Uhtred eventually tears his eyes away from the departing boats, his torn expression setting into stone before he turns to regard Leofric.

"Eat with me," Leofric offers as they walk back to camp, surprising himself once again.

A chink of light appears in Uhtred's eyes; a slight softening in his features.

Leofric takes it as acceptance.