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Faramund
Athanar and his father were talking. Father was coughing. He should not be out in the cold. The eorl should know better! It was one more piece of his mind he was more than ready to give the eorl! He was almost up to them and was about ready to speak his piece when he saw that Stedford led the others, carrying Father into the hall.
Athanar turned to him as he stopped. "I hope you have nothing against saving your father from this cold breeze and join us inside?"
Faramund stared at him blackly. This was just the kind of talk that had gotten him so mad in the first place, assuming bad intentions with his very words! How had he heard Lord Tancred handle such jibes? He remembered.
"I will not dignify your insinuations with a reponse." He turned, head held high, and followed his father's couch into the hall, letting the eorl follow behind or stand there offended as he chose.
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