Scarburg Meadhall

[Firefoot]

Scyld

Scyld was puzzled by Rowenna's response. It was as if she had expected him to say yes. Or maybe not expected, but hoped? Why? Why would she think that? Why would she want to trust him, or think she could trust him? She knew nothing about him! He had thought she was like him, knowing what the world truly held: pain and heartache and cruelty.

So why did she seem so disappointed? Or was it embarrassment, that had her staring down at her feet? Where had this conversation gone wrong? Scyld was beginning to realize that, for once, he was far out of his league. He was so used to manipulating and using people, to baiting and charming them with a haphazard mix of truth and lies. That was easy, a game he could play in his sleep.

But it was just that. A game. Maybe it was time to let the game go.

But what would be left of him? Would he remain Nydfara forever? Plain, boring, normal Nydfara. Even that was a farce. Just part of the game.

Games were supposed to have winners and losers. Scyld had always thought of himself as the winner and everyone else, losers. But maybe this game didn't have anyone but losers.

The song was drawing to a close. Scyld hadn't heard a single note of it, but he clapped along with the rest of the hall. Rowenna was still determinedly not looking at him, but he spoke to her anyway. “And you, Rowenna?” She turned her head. “Do you think that I could trust you?”

~*~*~*~

Léof

Léof laughed. “I reckon that's pretty smart,” he said. “She's bold as any man, and she's got some pretty strong, well, womanly wiles on top of that.” He didn't remember where he'd heard the term before, but it certainly seemed to fit. “Once, she got Lord Eodwine to loan her his horse for a race that I could've sworn he planned to ride in himself. She wouldn't settle for one of the hall horses – she had to have the best one in the stable. I still don't know how she did it.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine finished the song. The hall was silent. One could have heard a leaf drop. Then applause broke out. Rowenna clapped half heartedly.

“And you, Rowenna?” Nydfara was talking. She looked up at him. “Do you think that I could trust you?”

She hesitated. After his hedging answer, what could she say that he would believe? And then she knew what her answer had to be.

"Would you believe me if I said no? Or yes?"

[littlemanpoet]

"Can we talk?"

Ginna's heart raced. She had missed Harreld terribly. But their last conversation had left her wounded, and she was afraid that what he had to say would only inflict more pain. There was no use delaying the inevitable, however.

"Yes, Harreld. But not here. Lead the way."

Harreld had not considered that this place would not be good for talking. He searched his thought quickly to think of where.

"'Tis cold outside. The smithy?"

She nodded. They made their way, he leading. It felt strange. Why did she want to walk behind him? He slowed down. She walked slower. He sighed. What was wrong? No, he would not become irritable. Their last talk had been very painful and she might not want to talk to him much at all. Perhaps he had been foolish to think she would want to talk to him at all. It was too late now. He opened the smithy door for her and she walked through into the dark warmth. The oven was always on, so there was a little light, but not enough for him to tell anything from her expression.

The smithy was delightfully warm, in contrast to the cold air outside. But it had changed since the last time she had entered it. There were more tools now. Garreth's. Ginna realised that the last time she had spoken to Harreld was also in this very same place. And again, like before, she remained silent as she sat down, letting him to speak first.

She sat down and said nothing. Well, he was the one who had wanted to talk.

"Eodwine and I talked about you and me. I hope you don't mind?"

She shook her head no.

"He reminded me of Eomer's disobedience to King Theoden, and that Eomer had been right. Then Eodwine said that I should weigh my heart, whether my aim with you is in taking, or in giving."

Harreld paused. He had come to the brink of his word. He found it hard to say more, and did not know why. Now that he thought about it, he admitted to himself that he had much to gain by taking her to wife. Or was she ready to be done with him?

"I would give you anything you ask. If you'll have me."

[Firefoot]

Scyld smirked and inclined his head in acknowledgment of Rowenna's riposte. Fairly spoken.

“Perhaps,” he replied, not looking directly at her but across the dance floor at the others there, “my trust has nothing to do with whatever answer you might give to my question.” He paused to let her think on that for a moment, but spoke again before she could reply. “And perhaps, it depends upon what you mean by trust.” He faced her and gestured out at the wider hall. “Who do you trust? Eodwine? Saeryn? Her brother Degas? But do you still keep secrets from them? Or perhaps you do not trust them, though a more generous lot I have never met, because you, like me, know that trust is not cheap. And perhaps, the real question you should be asking is not whether you can trust me, but what you can trust me with, and why you would wish to do so.”

Finally Scyld broke off; he could not remember the last time he had strung so many words together at once, for usually he preferred to listen than speak, to learn others' viewpoints and keep his own counsel. Now, though, intensity burned in his normally cool and distant gaze, and he found that he very much wanted for Rowenna to understand.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna did not know some of the words Nydfara used as he gazed out over the crowd; they sounded Gondorian. But she thought she got the gist of his meaning: maybe it would not matter whether she said yes or no to whether he could trust her? As if it did not depend on her answer at all? He spoke again before she could follow that thread of thought any further.

“And perhaps, it depends upon what you mean by trust." He looked down at her and said more than she had ever heard from him. They were wise words, which suggested that they had been dearly bought. "...what you can trust me with, and why you would wish to do so?”

His eyes were on fire in a way she had never seen before. This meant more to him than most things he had said. Her heart's pace quickened. She would not have wanted to tear her eyes away from his had she realized that she was gazing at them with such rapt attention. She was on the verge of spilling out her soul in words she might regret. It scared her more than anything had in a long, long time. She blinked and looked away from him and stared unseeing across the dance floor before answering.

"Oh, I suppose I was thinking of the story of my past, though that is no secret. You have probably heard somewhat of it already."