[littlemanpoet]

Harreld strode to the Eorling Mead Hall, having put away his hammer and tongs and banked his fire. He could not bank the fire inside. And the hammer and tongs in his mind kept on beating upon the same anvil of undeniable reality.

Garreth had heard him out during the afternoon. Which meant that Harreld had mumbled a little about maybe thinking about the possibility of considering becoming Lord Eodwine's smith in Scarburg. Garreth badgered him with question after question until he had from Harreld everything needed to make the first '2' of '2 + 2 = 4'. He figured out the second '2' for himself: Ginna. But Garreth had not left it at '4', because he could tell that Harreld was still holding something back that was not sitting well at all. Garreth badgered and badgered until Harreld snarled all at once in words ringing louder than any hammer on anvil.

"Ginna finds me embarrassing!"

The ensuing silence had been deafening.

"Then she is not worthy of you," Garreth had said finally.

Harreld had snorted his response. "Idiot, I'm not worthy of her. She's highborn and I'm lowborn. She'd never marry me. Why did I never see it before?"

"Then why go to Scarburg?" Garreth had asked. It was a good question. Harreld had left Garreth with a dual purpose: to ask Ginna if she would ever consider the possibility, some day in the future, of becoming his wife, and if not, why would he go to Scarburg?

Harreld came to the front door of the mead hall, stopped and stared at the doorpost, and sighed a deep, reluctant sigh.

"No use standing here until Turin returns. I might as well get this over with."

He passed through the door, through the armory where he set aside his pair of daggers, and entered the mead hall.

Lhunardawen's post

Harreld crossed the hall and took his usual place at the table nearest to the kitchen. He sat hunched over, one leg on either side of the bench. No one else was there yet. He waited for Ginna to come as he beat his fist lightly against the table. What he needed was a good large ale cup.

After some time Ginna came in carrying empty dishes and silverware, Lèoðern tailing her. They had spent the last few hours together, chatting as they sat on the bench in the courtyard when they had become too tired of playing tag. Frodides had yelled at her to set the table for supper and Lèoðern had insisted on helping. Ginna was unwilling, however, to let the little girl carry anything, for her safety, so she had to be contented with simply coming along.

The sight of Harreld sitting alone at the table startled Ginna. She quickly became aware of her flushed face, her hair in disarray, but it was too late to make herself more presentable. She flashed him a self-conscious smile, and looked immediately away to set herself on her task.

The moment Ginna entered the hall, Harreld watched her every move, for he needed to know by any sign he could find in her. Not even a greeting beyond a quick, fleeting smile. Harreld pursed his lips in annoyance at the seeming verification of his doubt.

"Good greeting, Ginna," he said gruffly, not trying much to hide his ire. "I would like some ale and bread."

Ginna was yet to put down a few plates, and walked around the table towards the side farthest from the smith. "Lèoðern, dear," she called to the girl, who stood aside watching her, "why don't you run along to the kitchen? Kara might need your help." She nodded at Lèoðern, smiling encouragingly, and closed her eyes in relief when the child took off.

"Talk about good greetings," she finally said when they were alone, with nary a glance at Harreld. "What's wrong with you, anyway?"

Her words were like a slap in the face. But Harreld was one to consider any question posed to him. He looked down at the floor and gave thought. There were many things, he supposed, that were wrong with him, but what was it this time? It was the fear of dashed hopes. Could he say that to her? He looked up.

"I am unsure of how things stand between you and me." He thought of saying more, asking her if he had any chance at all of having her to wife, but he could not bring himself to ask, not yet.

How things stand between you and me. Ginna felt a shot of tingling up her back, crawling to her cheeks. She felt her heart pace, she could hardly breathe, she wanted to run away but was frozen where she stood, staring at the last plate in her hand. How could he spring such a question on her? What was she supposed to say that would be honest, yet would not hurt him either?

"I do not understand," she finally said when she had breath enough, still not looking up at him. "Are we not friends? Why do you ask me this?"

Friends. Every man knew that such words were the death-knell of any hopes such as Harreld had been entertaining. His frame sagged and his eyes became sad. His face settled into a defeated smile. "Yes, we are friends. I would be a fool to hoax - I mean expl - I mean think otherwise."

Now standing right in front of Harreld, Ginna cast a quick glance at him and frowned lightly. But nothing more remained to be said, not by her. She had no good thing to say, apart from one: "I'll get your ale and bread," she whispered.

And as she walked away, she could not help noticing the transparent barrier that had sprung between them, and blaming herself at the thought that she might have lain down its bricks.