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Thornden stood in absolute silence, not from stern anger, but from dumbfounded surprise. What was it that leaped and struggled to get free, but at the same time shrank from coming into the light? Trystan, in his entire stay at the Mead Hall, had rarely ever seemed so flustered and disturbed. He was generally the epitome of nonchalant calmness. There had been flashes of indignant anger at being insulted, the usual mask of the apparent lack of interest, but never fear and this obvious uncertainty
“Thornden-” he began, and stopped.
‘Yes - yes?’ Thornden pressed inside his head, but speaking nothing aloud. A very long pause followed. Trystan looked up at him and then back to the ground.
“You’re right. You’re. . .I’m sorry, you are right. I just. . .look, never mind, it was just a hunch, and idea that a certain. . .” he stopped again. Thornden’s eyebrow lifted in confusion, and he still said nothing. Silently, he begged Trystan to continue.
‘Idea that it was a certain what? Oh, come on! Speak to me, I won’t bite your head off.’
Trystan looked up, maybe half apologetically as he ran his hand through his hair. “Make any sense?” It was a joke, but Thornden dearly wished it weren’t and that he could answer it.
‘No, none at all, actually.’
The satirical remark faded from his mind. Trystan glanced around him, a new look in his eyes, so recently filled with some inhuman fear, much like that in the eyes of the man Thornden had scared away. They were now filled with loneliness. Thornden felt taken aback and a wave of guilt flooded him. They’d all been so worried that he’d turn out to be a villain, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. They never thought that he might be needing friendship. Trystan was alone, with a crowd of people around him, and Thornden knew well enough that unless someone else broke the ice first, Trystan would always remain alone.
Should he say something now? Trystan’s shield had fallen. His mind and his feelings, his confidence, his secret - whatever that was - might be reached now. But in five minutes - in two, maybe - the guard would be back up and the lock would be dropped in place.
The thoughts passed through Thornden’s mind one after another and he had made up his mind to say something when Trystan spoke. “Look, it doesn’t matter: you’re right, I’ve no reasonable compulsion for pursuing this individual. Should we return?”
Thornden nearly winced at the sudden far-offness of his voice. The shell was already closing. “No, not yet,” he said quickly. But what could he say? The glimpse inside Trystan had been momentary, a chance passing more quickly than a flash of lightning. “You were. . .you were on the verge of telling me something.” Would it do any good to press his confidence? Someone had to, sometime. Was it fair to take advantage while his guard was half down? No other time would do, he figured. “Won’t you finish?”
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