[Firefoot]

With the court over, folk began to disperse. Cerwyn turned to Léof. “Why didn’t you tell me we were getting up to speak?” she asked.

“I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Léof said. “There wasn’t much time, and I’m just trying to figure this out as I go – your being here, I mean. It’s still a bit of a shock.”

“Hmm,” said Cerwyn, not wholly satisfied.

“Court went well though,” said Léof. He felt terribly relieved, though rationally he didn’t know why he should have been so nervous. When had Eodwine ever been anything but good and fair to him? Still, suddenly forced now to worry about his family and his past again, Léof had felt as he stood up there as though he were sixteen again, anxiously wondering why a lord would take in a homeless, penniless lad of unknown origins to be his ostler.

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Cerwyn.

“And if you are to stay for a few days at least, we had best get you settled. Come, let me introduce you to the lady of the Hall.”

Cerwyn followed as Léof threaded his way through the people still milling about, talking or working to move the tables back to their usual configuration. They approached a woman much younger than Cerwyn expected, and she wondered briefly if the Lord Eodwine was a widower, and this was his daughter taking her mother’s place in the Hall. Or perhaps a daughter-in-law – she seemed too old to be unwed.

“Saeryn, this is my sister Cerwyn,” Léof was saying. “Cerwyn, this is Lady Saeryn, Lord Eodwine’s wife.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Cerwyn said, rapidly rethinking her theory. An arranged marriage then – in light of Cerwyn’s own fears about her future, the alternative did not occur to her. She wondered if the lady regretted her fate, or if she was pleased with her fortune. If one was to be forced to marry, she supposed one could do far worse than an Eorl, especially one who seemed to be fair and kind.

“Could you show Cerwyn where she can stay?” Léof asked. “I’ll bring in her things from the stables.”