[littlemanpoet]

Harreld rubbed his eyes again as he walked from his smithy to the mead hall. Before he fell asleep he wanted to talk to Thornden. Not that telling him tonight instead of tomorrow would change a thing, but he wanted it done.

He stretched his arms and neck, trying to loosen them after hours of whet stone work. He squinted ahead of him: the moon hung just above the horizon in the west. It was late, but he was determined to wake Thornden if he had to. It turned out to his surprise that this was unnecessary, for Thornden was just coming out of the Mead Hall.

"Thornden! Hail!"

"Harreld! You are still awak?"

"Aye, there is a matter I cannot banish from my thoughts. Will you be gong to Edoras?"

"Not I, but I will be sending- Ugh! You stink, Harreld! Did you sleep in your scrap iron?"

Harreld chuckled. "Close enough. I will bathe in the morning. I would beg a boon of you, though."

"Speak it."

"Have your messenger stop in at my brother Garreth and tell him to come to Scarburg. There is more than enough work for two smiths now with the extra soldiers."

Thornden's brow rose. "I suppose a few moments can be set aside for that-" he murmured doubtfully.

"Or do you think our new eorl would say me nay?"

"I ... cannot say. Would you like me to ask him?"

Harreld sighed. He had been hoping for quick reassurance from Thornden. The man's doubt did nothing to assuage his dislike of the new eorl. "Aye, I would be in your debt if you would. The work is more than one man can handle now."

"I will take care of it," Thornden replied. "Get some sleep! I'll tell you in the morning."

"Aye. Good night," Harreld replied unhappily. Now that the thing was done he was very weary and it was not long before he was sound asleep, dreaming of sharpened sword edges and prison bars.