[Folwren]

Thornden thanked Leof quietly when he handed his horse's reins to him. He looked intently at Leof's face as the young man turned and led his horse to the side. Something was gnawing at him, and it wasn't fear. Things had gone differently than what either of them had expected when Thornden threw out that invitation to ride with them. It was good that he had.

Thornden tightened the saddle-girth and mounted up. He looked about his shoulder to the hall door. No one was in sight. He sighed and looked across the courtyard at Faramund's men, arranged in rows opposite them. How long would the conference with the old man take? What would be the outcome? Thornden had not heard the brief exchange of words between Faramund and Athanar, there in the space between the two groups of men-at-arms, but he had seen Athanar's face grow hard and stern in response to something Faramund said, and Thornden's eyes had not missed the action of Athanar's hand gripping his sword hilt. Whatever was being said inside the hall now was not necessarily diplomatic, and the threat of a clash of arms was not yet dissipated. At least all was in order here. So long as his men remained calm and made no sudden or threatening moves, all would remain quiet here and no one would be provoked to any violence. He cast a quick eye over the men. They stood silent, waiting and apprehensive.

But then something unexpected did happen. Thornden became aware of the men's attention disrupted. Heads turned, but not one man in his ranks said a single word. Around the corner of the stables came none other than Athanar's two sons. Thornden leaned forward in his saddle to better see. They both had their hands on their swords, but Wilheard had but one shoe and Wulfric had. . .a flower in his hair?

“What is going on here?” the older one asked, stopping short between the two drawn ranks of men. His voice was stern and sounded like the authoritative voice his father used. It annoyed Thornden, and it amused Faramund's men. He saw their faces breaking slowly into smiles. This annoyed Thornden further. Did they mean to bring disgrace to their father by appearing in such a disgraceful fashion? The job of convincing Faramund that Athanar had the authority to levy taxes was hard enough without his sons acting like fools.

“Wulfric,” Thornden said coldly. “Get over here and get on your horse. Willheard. . .” He wanted so badly to ask him what had happened to his boot, but the temptation to humiliate him was overruled by the fact that it would make them all look ridiculous. “Mount your horse, too.”