Bjorun Bearmantle

Bjorun Bearmantle keeps the old law that a guest fed under a roof must be defended beyond the doorway. He dislikes polished courts, loud captains, and men who call wild country empty because they cannot tax it. Keldrun understands him through hearth duty and horse-road rescue: bread first, warning next, violence when warning fails. Lysvar understands the quieter truth in him, that sanctuary survives only when the green edge has claws enough to make hunters reconsider. His halls smell of honey, smoke-black beams, damp hide, crushed herbs, and wet fur after rain. Children trust his hands before soldiers do. Enemies learn too late that his patience is not softness but a border drawn in breath, bark, and bone. When Bjorun rises, hospitality becomes judgement, and trespassers discover that the wilderness has been listening all along.