[Kransha]

Sigurd, who was not the most contemplative or thoughtful boy, seemed genuinely lost in thought. He raised a hand to his chin and scratched pensively, looking the part of a philosopher, which seemed to alarm Osric even more, who looked utterly confused. Sigurd, after a tranquil silence to which the area was unaccustomed descended and filled the brisk, indoor air around them, spoke, his voice firm and resolute, though wrought with hesitation. “Well, Bethberry,” he began politely, reserved in his tone of voice for care’s sake, “your suggestions are ample, and I thank you for that. There are surely enough choices mentioned for me to determine a suitable path…though some may not be as wanted as some.” The boy had a momentary, and rather disturbing thought cross his mind about the innate possibility of being cast the role of a serving maid. Yes indeed, that position was not wanted at all, a feelin mutual for both Osric and Sigurd.

Suddenly, before Sigurd could continue, Osric spurted into the conversation, lurching uncomfortably were he stood. He seemed to be making some truly grand speech, as his arms waved and made involuntary gestures of illustration, which were probably very distracting from his garbled words. “But, of course, if there is any space open indefinitely, he would gladly fill it.” His mouth was still open, ready to continue, but Sigurd began again before his uncle’s words had developed. “It is a delicate matter, but my choice is set before me.” He looked as confident as ever, a fact which should’ve made his uncle proud, or even delighted (which he probably had never been in his rowdy, often rebellious nephew), but it didn’t, for Osric was too busy interrupting again.

“And he will readily serve any other purpose if that choice is met with-”

This time, Sigurd interrupted, his voice cold but satisfied, “Uncle, do I speak in some foreign tongue that my words need translating? Pray, tell me if that is so. Otherwise, I think Bethberry can hear and understand to some extent what I say without your assistance.” He pleasant tone now died, and Osric shrunk out of Sigurd’s way, looking half dejected, while Bethberry blinked courteously. Sigurd stepped forward again, in front of his relative, and spoke again, with dramatic force, summoning a resolved strength of voice.

“Bethberry, your last offer is most desirable, in my eyes at least.” He shot a dark look at his uncle, who turned his bearded head, pretending to look away and not notice the perturbed look being directed at him. “As I have naught to do in Edoras but tote my weight around, I would be more than willing to serve as a laborer here, but in more respects. My days are empty, as are my nights, so I would carry and handle what you wished me to, but I would not be adverse to helping in the stable, or serving anywhere else when that duty was required. As my uncle has said…many times,” again he shot a venomous look, but tempered with a vague, mute grin which Osric truly did not see, as he was currently trying very hard to look as if he’d seen an troll just outside the shuttered window of the inn, and acting the part well, “…I will be happy to serve wherever I am needed, or laborers have gone missing.”

The secret was, as Osric had by now guessed, but dared not mention, was that Sigurd was simply trying to put every last one of his waking hours in the inn, and for one purpose, and that purpose was one of the establishments other employees, Maercwen. In the kitchen and doing the less manly chores, though he would be demeaned in his boyish arrogance, he would also gain more access to her and those around, to seek any quarry presented. Leofan in the stable surely had an insight or two, and Hearpwine too. Osric’s eyes dimmed grimly as he shook his head in contemplation. His nephew was a romantic, and a hopeless one, and would probably accept even the most menial, and uncharacteristic of chores to get what he desired, as he was very persistent. Osric could only hope that Sigurd would pour the same dedication into his line of work that he would into his newest contemporary quest. Now, as he stood silently, unblinking and unmoving, as Sigurd nodded meditatively to himself and continued.

“That is my answer, Bethberry.”