[littlemanpoet]

Harreld walked back from the hall to his smithy, arm in arm with Ginna.

"Your face would curdle milk, Harreld!" Ginna said. "Did you not like the eorl's speech?"

"I've heard worse," Harreld allowed.

"Why the glum face then? You did not wear it until we left the hall."

Harreld heaved a sigh. "The eorl was playing us as if we were his circus beasts. It was as if he was on stage acting out a play. Eodwine never spoke to us so."

Ginna looked from side to side before replying. "It saddens me, remembering how differently Eodwine used to address us. He had always made us feel that we are more to him than mere servants. But careful now with your words, Harreld."

"The eorl will get no treason from me, fear not. I do not hate him, nor do I like him well." He sighed again. "Maybe I am merely overworked."

They went into the smithy.

"Are we to work more tonight?"

He sighed again. "Nay. It is late. No bellows work needed now. Go and take your rest."

She looked up at him with a determined expression. "I could stay here and keep you company, if you wish."

He smiled and almost relented, for she was a balm to him when he was in these moods. "Nay, lovely one, I think it would be best if I take some time alone."

She narrowed her eyes. "Best?"

"Maybe not," he paused, "best, but needed."

She touched his shoulder and caressed his face, and looked into his eyes. "Do not putter too late. Good night." She left him.

She knew him well. He did not expect to sleep soon for his mind ran the same ground over and over again, like the ruts a dog would make along the fence of its prison. He took a sword blade and a whet stone and set to work sharpening the edge.

It would be good to have Garreth back again. He would have Thornden deliver his message in Edoras, if the eorl would allow it. Or would Athanar not approve the extra mouth to feed? He was not sure. It angered him, because he knew that Eodwine would have welcomed another smith gladly were he needed, regardless of the extra food he would cost.

The sharper Harreld honed the sword edge, the bitterer his thought ran. He knew that it was not just what was wrong with Athanar; he missed Eodwine. I wish you well, lord and friend. He meant it, but what hope was there? Eodwine was as good as dead. He wiped at his eyes and refused the tears that wished to come, even though here away from prying eyes it would not seem unmanly. He worked far into the night until so weary that he could no longer stand it. Something must be done.