[Firefoot]

Léof was smart enough to know when he had been beaten. He slumped against the bench as he was fairly shoved down. “Now,” Thornden was saying, “are you going to take your own boot off, or shall I do it for you?”

Léof gathered what shreds were left of his pride and fixed Thornden with a sullen glare. “I am quite capable of taking off my own boot.” Thornden, however, made no indication of moving away, and Gárwine remained standing a half-step behind him. “I don’t need an audience,” he snapped. “I’m not going anywhere.” Not that he really could – after that struggle, his foot hurt worse than ever. He hadn’t even been fighting, as Thornden and Gárwine may have supposed, to escape having his foot checked, but rather to avoid being picked up and carried like a wounded puppy. In that, at least, he had succeeded.

They backed up fractionally – not nearly enough. “I’m serious,” said Léof coldly. “In fact, I’d be much happier if you just left right now.” Still keeping an eye on them, he leaned down to pry off his boot, going slowly until Gárwine and Thornden had retreated sufficiently. As they backed off, Æðel approached slowly. With Gárwine and Thornden, Léof was deeply annoyed; but with Æðel, mostly he was hurt. She had not even tried talking to him, just sent the other two after him. In fact, he may have even been more inclined to listen to her in the first place rather than Thornden and Gárwine, whose sole purpose in being there at all almost had to have been manhandling him into power. Like I’m some sort of half-broke colt. That didn’t even sound right to him – he would treat colts better than that, anyway.

“I’m sorry, Léof, but it really is for your own good,” she commented. Léof remained resolutely silent and finished extricating his foot from the boot. He held it out for her to inspect. After a few moments, he started to say, “You had better not-”, then stopped abruptly. She had hurt him, insulted him even, but somehow that didn’t seem the right thing to say. “Really, I can get along. Just… don’t tell me I can’t work,” he said, then added with no small amount of willpower, “please.” He didn’t try to explain; he did not feel like being conversational right now, especially not with the perceived conspirators in this betrayal. He figured she’d understand why, anyway.

He honestly was not completely sure why this was all necessary, so used was he to taking care of himself. Sure, it hurt, but it wasn’t going to be fatal or anything – it would probably heal itself up sooner or later anyway. And it wasn’t like he was nobility or someone that needed to be pampered with every little cut or hurt. “Not like I’m anyone really important,” he muttered.