There are some mistakes in the Recap/Character+Locations boxes, but I assume those are not so important to you, and I leave you to sort them out 
Melancholia
7 is, as we all know, a sacred number. God created the world in 7 days, and custom demands that a child is raised for 7 years by its mother, and then, ideally, is given to another family to be brought up and teached taught the skills necessary for his trade.[Regarding "7", I think single digit numbers are standardly spelled out. I can see why you might want the actual number here for story purposes, but I thought I'd just mention the usual way of doing it.]
The circumstances under which the children had been ripped by from their families were less than ideal, yet their function as hostages wasn’t supposed to be overt either.[The preceding sentence has an odd logical structure. You are essentially writing "A, yet B", but the B phrase doesn't seem to link in an intuitive way to the A phrase, making it unclear why you've placed them in this particular logical connection to one another. Not sure what to do about that (if anything) but it might be worth considering a change.] To preserve an appearance of normalcy, tradition was adhered to, and Gundulf and Matteo thus received the care they were due.
Gundulf would stay with Albert Azzo, and served as his page. He would follow the margrave on his near-constant [this descriptor seems unnecessary to me] travels through his vast domains that stretched from the Ligurian sea to the Adria,. He was properly clad and fed, and when he wasn’t servicing his lord, he was teached taught the basics on how to write and read, and, most importantly, on how to fight.of reading and writing, and most importantly, fighting.
Matteo shared Gundulf#s journey for a while, but was ultimately given into the care of a rich Milanese merchant with strong ties to the margrave. The merchant too would often travel and take his protégé with him on his journeys, but most of Matteo’s childhood was nevertheless spent in relative safety behind city walls. His education would rivaled and in certain ways even exceeded that of Gundulf, except when it came to physical education [Something about this phrase seems odd to me; it makes me think of school too much, and takes me out of the medieval feeling of things.], but to him that mattered little: Matteo learned the art of adding and subtracting numbers from another according to the teachings of the wise aArab Algorismus, and soon realised that the pen was mightier than the sword, as so long as the writings consisted mostly of numbers and were backed up [Too modern of an expression. I'd suggest something like "emboldened" or "bolstered".] by appropriate amounts of gold. Fighting in a battle was dangerous, after all. Paying a man to fight on your behalf, on the other hand, was not.
Things, however, were very different for Aistulf, however. He had no longer had any family left whatsoever, nor was he, as the orphaned son of a mere stableman hanged for murder, of any value as a hostage. The margrave hadn’t forced him to leave the valley, as he’d done with the other two. Aistulf had run after them, had out of his own volition chosen exile.
Life had been bad [I am being nitpicky here, and drawing from my own area of expertise, but I take exception to the use of "bad" here. It is contentious whether life can be "bad" for anyone. It can be hard or easy, but it is the precondition for any pleasure or well-being or other positive value, and for that reason I wouldn't say that life itself is ever bad. But again, I'm just being a pain in the ass ]for the child even before he had become an orphan. Adults had treated him with contempt at best, and insulted or beaten him as they had seensaw fit. The other children had soon learned from their parents’ example and bullied him mercilessly.
So when his father had (in very short order) been accused, trialled tried, and hanged for the murder of his lord, Aistulf had, even at his very tender age, understood that there would be no love in this the valley for him. Fear of uncertainty was nothing to the boy compared to the certain fate he knew this the valley offered him. Unlike Gundulf and Matteo, no one ever forbade him to return to the valley[You're saying "valley" too many times.] to his forsaken home. UAnd unlike them, he also never wanted wished to, and he always remained silent when the others reminisced of the past.
Memories have a funny way of changing over the passage of time, and for young children that goes double. Matteo soon only seemed to have fond memories of his home. Aistulf, on the other hand, only ever remembered the worst of it.
None of the three had been friends during their time in the valley. Gundulf and Matteo had inherited the rivalry of their fathers and fought each other often, and, not to be outdone by their peers, been particularly vicious to Aistulf.
But as soon as they were on their way out of the valley, it no longer mattered. They were happy they had each other, for otherwise they would have been alone. They’d share the carriage during the day and a heap of straw during the night. The margrave and his entourage were lenient, as long as that journey lasted, and not only allowed Aistulf to travel with them, but also gave him to eatfed him.
As their distance of from the valley grew, so did the dependence of the children on each other. The narrow confines of the valleys became ever wider, until finally they’d arrived in the Padan plain, and in the vastness of this unfamiliar landscape the children felt completely lost. The rivers increased significantly in size, as did the cities, whose mostly Roman structures and walls, although partly in ruin, were an intimidating sight to eyes unused to such scale.[The clauses of this sentence are slightly confusing. Maybe you could split it into two sentences somehow.]
The tongues of the children they met on the road, if they ever met any, changed significantly as well. Not only was tthe old Lombardic tongue of Germanic origin, which their valley still stubbornly had held on to, was entirely forgotten here – the Italian dialects spoken changed significantly from Ligurian, to the Lombard, and then finally to the Venetian variant, making the children feel ever more as the strangers.[I know an Italian guy from this region, and he would say that even today "Italian" is something of a construct, used only for people to talk to others from distant parts of the country. Given that, I find it odd that you would use "Italian" in the story, as I am pretty sure it does not exist at this time as a language.] Gundulf and Aistulf in particular felt their former lives to be over, as they from now on were only ever called Gandolfo and Astolfo.
After weeks of travel, they finally arrived at their destination: The castle of Este at the southern end of the Euganean hills, which Albert Azzo himself had built. And they were allowed to stay close for a while longer, until Matteo had been handed in to the care of the merchant I had mentioned to you earlier [This is a weird break in the fourth wall. Is this phrase necessary?] and Aistulf was given into the care of the church. Aistulf did poorly in their care, and, not wanting to become a monk himself, ran away at some point, and from thereon lived an unsettled life on the streets of the cities and, whenever danger seemed imminent, that of a vagrant in the countryside.
No one taught him to read and write in those years, nor did he learn the art of adding and subtracting numbers. He didn’t not learn the proper way to wield a sword either, or how to ride a horse.
But the education he got received was not necessarily inferior to that of the others;. I it was much more focused than that of the others, on one topic only: Survival.
The separation of the three did not end their friendship, as Matteo and Gundulf on their frequent travels always made sure to meet, whenever they were close by, and supported Aistulf whenever they could. Aistulf, bound to no place and no man, would seek them out frequently, and often relay messages between the two.
And so their friendship held over the years, and when their encounters became infrequent in the seventh year, it did so for a reason outside of their control. It was the margrave himself.
Map
“GANDOLFO!”
The margrave barked, and in so doing ripped the boy out of his train of thought.
“More wine!”
Gundulf, already holding the jug in his hands, hurried to comply.
Albert Azzo said no more, and Gundulf thus was left to his thoughts yet again.
The sun was still on the rise, as was evident by the few beams of light passing through the small windows, and yet here he was, alone with a grumpy old man in a tower not unlike the one he had once called his home. They were so similar, and yet so far away [This is an odd expression, as it doesn't fit well with the concept of similarity.]. He sighed.
How many years had it been now? 1… 2… 3… he counted silently in his head, until he finally, and with some incredulity, arrived at the seventh number. 7? Really? Had it been that long ago?
And yet, not a single day had passed since in which he hadn’t missed it,. I in spite of all that had happened.
And then his train of thoughts inevitably wandered to his friends. What were those two up to?
There had been a time not long ago, when he had considered himself to be the lucky one of the three. But that had been before Albert had changed for the worse[That he changed for the worse is something you should (and do) show, rather than tell.]. The proud and energetic leader had now become little more than a defeated old man, who in these days did little but stay inside all day. And Gundulf, as his page, had to stay inside with him.
Defeated by what, exactly? He asked himself. The margrave was, despite his methusalemic [Shouldn't this be capitalized?] age, still in peak form. Never had Gundulf met anyone as old as him.
It was the year of the lLord and sSaviour 1077.[Since the monk is the writer here, every religious thing should be capitalized (in my opinion). That's the way it is in the Bible, and that's the way a religiously educated man of the time would write it.] Albert Azzo “the younger” (his father had had the same name) was rumoured to have been born in the previous millennium. Most people Gundulf knew had dead grandparents younger than him. Few ever lived past their forties. And yet this man was already twice that age.
But it wouldn’t last much longer, the boy surmised. The old man’s body was still well, but his mind seemed broken. Gundulf, meanwhile, was bored out of his mind.
The old margrave let out a long, loud sigh, once again interrupting the boy’s musings.
“My lord”, Gundulf timidly asked: “Are you alright?”
The old man nodded.
“The day is still young, my lord. Shouldn’t we be outside?”
The question made the margrave raise an eyebrow, but he decided against chiding the boy for his impertinence.
“What for?” He asked back, rhethorically: “There’s nothing for me to do.”
And then Albert couldn’t help himself and kept talking, less to Gundulf and increasingly to himself:
“My holdings are doing well, and so are my children. And quite frankly, they probably all have gotten quite tired of me still being alive and will probably be elated once the Almighty finally grants me death.”
“My lord…” Gundulf tried to protest, but the margrave ignored him:
“I haven’t seen my first-born son, Welf, for many years now.
I understand...
He’s doing far better than I ever have. His uncle died when he was about your age, and Welf left to claim his inheritance. More than 3 decades have passed since. He is a duke, now holds more land than I ever did… Two duchies!” He gestured wildly with two of his fingers and looked angrily at Gundulf, who was visibly taken aback.
“Two duchies!” Albert repeated: “And I never even held one! So why would the venerable duke of Bavaria, Carinthia, and, let us not forget, the margraviate of Verona, waste his time with a lousy marchio [Italian for margrave] [Same point as bove; I would avoid the term "Italian" and instead use some other linguistic marker (e.g. Lombardic).] such as me?”
“My lord, you’re still one of the mightiest rulers in Italy [And again.].” Gundulf was about to object, never even considering talking about love.[Huh? What's love got to do, got to do with it? (Sorry, I had to  ) This sort of seems to come out of nowhere, as love hasn't been mentioned, and doesn't seem at place in this conversation anyway.]
The margrave luckily didn’t notice that slip-up, as he was ignoring the boy whilst simultaneously talking to him, and continued: “Then there’s my youngest son, Hugh. Incompetent fool, and I’m ashamed to admit he’s the product of my loins. But no matter. His mother has taken care of him and set him up for good. He’s ruling Maine now. Do you even know where that is?”
Gundulf could but barely shake his head.
“West of Paris.” Albert immediately informed him.
And not bothering to ask the boy if he knew where Paris was (he did not), the margrave continued:
“And last but not least there’s my second son, Fulk, the cunning weasel! Not a single honourable bone his body.
And yet he’s my son! I made him that way! Whether I pride myself for it or not!
So he’s traveling and governing my land as we speak, and the only thing more repugnant to me than his character is the fact that he’s doing fine.
Do you think he or our subjects would be amused if I were to meddle?
Things are being done differently now, he tells me all the time, and he’s right! I’m from a different time! So I’ll stay here!”
The margrave had become ever more emotional and louder during his speech, before suddenly pausing. There was a moment of silence, as Gundulf had wisened up [Seems too modern of an expression.] and was reluctant to respond.
“I tried to fight it.” Albert finally spoke, quietly, just as Gundulf was about to open his mouth.
“To belong to the nobility used to mean something. Most of my vassals are ruling over subjects that are richer than them now. The cities and the bishops are taking over everything over now. Blood doesn’t matter. Coin purses do. And I, ever the fool, tried to stick to the old ways.”
There was another uncomfortable pause.
“I built this castle here.” Albert remarked, with bitterness in his voice: “A place to impress my subjects. A monument, future generations would remember me by. A castle that’d make my descendants so proud, they’d name themselves after it! House of Este! How does that sound?!”
He made a short laugh, before immediately reverting to his old depressed tone:
“Or so I thought. What I really built is my retirement home [Also seems too modern of an idea. Maybe something like "house of exile"]. So far out of the way that people will soon forget about it. The future belongs to the cities. I should have built my castle inside one of them instead and ruled from there.”
Another moment of silence, and this time, the margrave grew annoyed by the lack of response.
“Your father used to fight that as well.” He remarked bitterly: “And that’s what cost him his life.”
“What do you mean?” Gundulf asked, but never received an answer.
The door opened and a man hurried in to announce the unexpected arrival of a Milanese merchant requesting an audience.
And sure enough,: Gundulf saw an all too familiar face smile at him through the open door.
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Re: Of Wolves and Prey [Updated: 16/04; Part II.1 CHAPTER 2 BEGUN]
Shame on you
Now I feel bad for making a meme that's longer than what I write.
).
Originally Posted by Cookiegod
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Well, now that it's out there, I'll only say that one day you unbelievers will all see the light. 
But like Alwyn has said, it would be nice to have a short recap or something, and of course I'm always a fan of character lists, but that is entirely up to you. So glad to see you back in action CG! 
at those. Especially on the forum. It looks normal when you're envisioning it on a normal page, but here the text gets stretched so wide, it feels weird and I might make some wrong changes (not that they were good before). So yeah. I'm aware of the problem but don't know how to solve it. Further advice would be appreciated. Though I'll give it another go soonish and try to fix it.
)? This seems like a potential continuity issue, but it may not be, depending on your answer/intent here. I can also see you developing some character details here (Matteo notices more, Gundulf is less attentive/diplomatic) and if that's the intent, then I have no quarrel here.] Matteo on the other hand had deliberately sought out an inconspicuous corner in the room, from which he had listened intensely to the conversation between his padrone and his liege, always paying as much attention to the facial expressions and body language of the margrave as to the words that actually left his mouth.
It makes my OCD brain feel so much better to see it all organized nicely like that. My general suggestion for the next update (regarding spacing) would be to avoid the line breaks that don't leave an actual separation, and have things either in the same proper paragraph, or in separate paragraphs split by a blank line. 
