Eorling Mead Hall

[littlemanpoet]

"Eodwine, we should celebrate his victory later... perhaps a small party in his honor. What think you?"

"Yes indeed! That is, as soon as I fall on his other foot as punishment for risking laming himself for the rest of his life!"

"You wouldn't!"

"No, but I should."

Saeryn grinned and seemed satisfied, walking jauntily by his side. He wondered what Garstan thought of the spectacle of the Eorl of Middle Emnet arm in arm with his hostess who happened to be half his age. She had deftly inserted her arm in the crook of his arm. He supposed that maybe his elbow had been not quite snug against his own side, so it could have looked like he was inviting her to take his arm. Oh well, the damage was done, if damage one could call it. Eodwine cast furtive glances to either side, to see if people noticed, and if they did, how they were reacting. Maybe it was all in his head, but he could swear that he saw a few more winks and knowing smirks than was really quite necessary.

Not that he minded her touch one bit. No, he enjoyed that. Too much. It was taking great reservoirs of restraint to hold himself from taking her in his arms and determining once for all how soft those lips really were and how they would feel against his own. Now he felt guilty, especially considering his dream.

Stop it.

She probably hadn't a clue. And therefore he must continue with all the endurance he could muster to keep her from getting one. Maybe he should release her arm. No, that would probably send the wrong message too. Best just make the best of a bad situation.

"My lord?"

It was Garstan. The man had had a question, and all the hubbub had kept him from putting it to Eodwine. Time to redress that wrong.

"Yes, Garstan! You had a question! Put it to me!"