Scarburg Meadhall

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld was the first to notice Eodwine and Saeryn and the unknown man, for Ginna was eagerly telling him a story of her childhood. He gestured to her with a glance at the approaching three, and rose. Ginna rose with him. Suddenly he felt her hand in his, trembling. Was she that excited about the wedding?

"Good greeting, lord and lady, and you also sir. I am Harreld the Smith, and this is Ginna." He felt Ginna's hand squeezing harder.

"This is Randvér, Ginna's father, Harreld."

Harreld lost his breath, and stared. Her father? He felt his knees shake, for the man was glowering at him with undisguised displeasure. Involuntarily, he let go of Ginna's hand as if caught in the act of theft. He dared not look at her face this moment.

"What can I do for you, sir?" he asked.

"Saeryn and I need a sword for the wedding," said Eodwine, still unaware of Randvér's unspoken wrath. "I am to give her mine from my father, but she needs one to give to me. Have you any good swords in your trove, or do we need you to make one?"

"Um - ah - I - I must go see. Straight way!" He took one step in a bee line toward his smithy to get out of this most uncomfortable situation.

"Do not leave yet, Harreld the Smith," said Randvér.

Harreld stopped in his tracks and backed up, feeling embarrassed, and stood next to Ginna again. He glanced at her now: she was terror stricken. A bit of anger stoked in his belly that he had been so cowed by this man, and that he instilled such fear in his own daughter. He grabbed Ginna's hand and held tight.

"What can I do for you, sir?"