[Firefoot]

Scyld had crowded around with the rest of the Scarburgians at the arrival of the old eorl. Not for the first time in the last month, he found himself peculiarly moved by the loyalty Eodwine’s former household continued to show to him. It was the same sort of attitude that had driven Scyld to seek out these people in the first place – an attitude of selflessness, loyalty… love.

He still did not understand it.

Scyld’s loyalty was to himself – to seeing himself well-provided for, in the best position possible should events turn awry. He was a survivor – and his survival had more than once depended on him looking out for himself, because no one else would. Yet here were all these people, still showing such loyalty to a lord who could no longer serve them as a lord must. Making things harder for themselves by not simply accepting the rule of the new lord, no matter how different he might be from the old. Once, Scyld would have said that one master was just the same as another, but now he was not so sure.

Having lived and worked under both Sorn and Eodwine, he could hardly compare the two. He did not trust Eodwine, because Scyld still feared that if his history were found out he might be sent to the gallows. And if he did not trust Eodwine, he certainly did not trust Athanar and his heavy-handed sense of justice. However, he could not deny the air of freedom and camaraderie shared by those living in Scarburg – something he had never believed could really exist.

That being said, Athanar was no Sorn, and since those first couple of eventful days, Scyld could not really said that the hall fared any worse under Athanar than it had under Eodwine. So in that sense, a change in lord was not so great a hardship.

Still, he could not help but be curious to see how the meeting of the old and the new eorls would play out. Eodwine entered the hall, followed by Saeryn and the hobbit Falco. But then one came whom he was not expecting – Rowenna.

He was startled by his own reaction to seeing her: he felt like his heart was hammering in his throat. Could it be that he had actually missed her? She was certainly interesting, more interesting to him than most of the people in the hall. Like him, she was a survivor – ambitious, and ruthless, perhaps. Not just a little pretty, to sweeten the deal… but vicious. Scyld suddenly recalled his last significant interaction with her had ended in her smacking him across the face.

He realized that he was staring and forced his attention back to Eodwine. Of all the absurd things to be thinking of – a woman! It seemed that all this time he had been spending pretending to be Nydfara was finally getting to his head. Next thing he’d be fluttering and sighing (or crying, as had been the case lately) over the hall romances like the kitchen girls.

He had pulled himself from his reverie just in time to catch Eodwine swearing his fealty to Athanar. Now there was an unexpected turn. He would be interested to hear what the others thought of that. As was his habit, he faded into the background to watch and listen.