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Harreld
Harreld was no fool. He did get tongue tied in the presence of fair women, and thus said foolish sounding things, but his mind was good; good at reading hints. He had seen the relief on Ginna's face when Eodwine had come back with the elderly Norjm. She had not had to answer the girl's question. "You like him, don't you?"
Harreld chewed on his hard black bread and drank the dregs of his ale in silence while all those around him carried on as if the world was full of joy. He watched as Ginna came back in with a tray laden with more bread, and how she snuck quickly away, not willing to be in the same room with him.
Yes, Ginna liked him, or she would not have pulled him aside to ask if he would go to Scarburg. But she was embarrassed by him, too. She did not want the Mead Hall, much less, Edoras, to know that she had any feelings toward the bumbling twin smith of the eastern quarter of Edoras. If she did not wish to have it known that she liked him, much less would she want to be his wife someday; or if she did lower herself - for she was not lowborn as he was, he knew - she would be embarrassed by him their whole life. It would not be good.
He stood up more abruptly than he had meant to and caught the surprised looks of the others.
"I must be back to my smithy," he growled, and shoulders hunched, plodded out of the Hall.
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