A/N: The drinking song Cearo quotes most of is, obviously, not mine. It's also not Fran Walsh's. It's from the chapter A Short Cut to Mushrooms in FotR.
When the song ended, Helm told Cearo he had a promise to keep to a particularly demanding little girl who'd be very upset if he wasn't by her side very soon, leaving Cearo alone to try and spot Aelfrid. She was just starting to turn to look for Aelfrid when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Startled, she shrieked and moved out from under the hand, turning as she did so to see who was there.
It was Aelfrid. "What is it with you always sneaking up on me?" she snapped, her words harsh and angry. "Why can't you act like a decent person and approach me where I can see you?"
Aelfrid scowled. "I was going to say something when you turned around."
"It would've been nice if you'd done that before putting a hand on my shoulder." She glowered, as much at herself for losing her temper as at Aelfrid. So much for keeping the peace. Cearo hoped the celebration would end soon. The stress of the day had made her nerves very raw and frayed and she wasn't sure how much longer she'd be able to keep it together.
"Sorry," Cearo forced herself to say. "I didn't mean to be so harsh." She wanted to say more, that she was worn down and drained and just wanted to crawl into a hole and get away from it all for a while, but she held her tongue, not wanting to risk giving Aelfrid any kind of opening or opportunity to bring up what had happened earlier. What had happened to the friend and confidante who'd helped her bury Dog when he died instead of snickering and telling her she was too attached to a "stupid animal", who hadn't laughed (much) at her first pathetic attempts to milk the cow and took the time to show her how to do it right? Whatever had happened to turn Aelfrid into the strange man who stood before her, she badly wanted him to change back to the person she'd come to know and love.
'Love?' she thought, startled. 'Where'd that come from?' A sinking feeling began to form in her gut as she considered that everyone else might be right after all. Of course, with everyone talking at her about how she loved Aelfrid and the blather had stuck in her mind to a degree and the only way she loved him was platonically. First chance she got the next day, she was going somewhere to be alone and think and sort through her confusion. From what she'd seen, the people in the village had a very different definition of 'love' than she did.
Aelfrid said nothing, and Cearo thought she saw the corners of his mouth twitch, as if he wanted to laugh but the beard and mustache he was growing made it hard to tell for sure. Already nervous and unsure, the possibility Aelfrid was silently laughing made her want to turn and walk—no, stalk away, and when Ma asked why she wasn't dancing Cearo would tell her Aelfrid was still being a pain. She'd been willing to try and make up with him but Aelfrid made it impossible, so what else was she supposed to do? Stay there and put up with it?
Finally, he spoke.
"Is the only reason you'll dance with me is because Ma told you to?" Petulant and defensive, it was clear Aelfrid was still upset.
'Stay. Calm,' Cearo silently told herself. 'Telling him off like he deserves will only make it worse.' Out loud, she said, "I could ask the same of you. You've been ignoring me, not the other way around."
"You know what I meant."
"If you'd asked, I would have." At the moment it was, but she doubted being honest would help the situation. "We've already stolen enough attention from Helm and Elfhild, and why wouldn't I want to dance with a friend?" She cracked a wry smile. "I never said I didn't want anything to do with you ever again, only that I didn't want to talk about—everything earlier. I'm sorry it sounded that way."
"Did Ma tell you to say that?"
"If she was going to demand someone apologize, it would be you for ignoring me and your childish tantrum because of what Baldric said. Because you made a big deal out of Baldric's drunken ramblings, you've guaranteed people will be gossiping about us for weeks to come, not me." Cearo gave him a disgusted glare, turned on her heel, and walked away, chin high.
Rheda's relaxed smile immediately fell and her expression clouded over when she saw Cearo coming towards her.
"Why are you not dancing with Aelfrid?" Rheda snapped, biting off each word. "You are being—"
"I was trying to be polite and smooth things over. He is the one with the problem, acting surly and defensive when I apologized to him. He said, 'Did Ma tell you to say that?' after I apologized and wanted to know if the only reason I'm dancing with him is because you told me to. I told him I'd have danced with him if he'd asked and tried to explain what I meant earlier was that all I meant is I wanted to be alone right then, not that I never wanted anything to do with him again. That's when he asked me if you'd told me to say that." The angry words poured out as Cearo, scowling, sat down next to Rheda. "I said if you were going to ask anyone to apologize, it would be him to me for making a huge scene earlier and making sure everyone gossips about us for weeks to come, and now they're really going to be talking because he can't act like an adult." She looked over at Rheda. "I don't want today ruined for Helm and Elfhild any more than it already has been. I'm more than happy to grit my teeth and dance with Aelfrid or sit next to him, or whatever's needed, but not if he's going to act like a warg with a bellyache. I'd sooner spend time with Brego than Aelfrid. He, at least, is being polite and courteous, even if I do feel as if I should have my dagger handy in case he becomes…too friendly." Cearo grimaced. "I didn't want to make a scene or make things worse between Aelfrid and I. I did try to smooth things over."
Rheda's expression was inscrutable and she didn't say anything that would indicate if she was upset with Cearo, Aelfrid, or both of them. Cearo was about to ask Rheda if she was mad at her, but Rheda suddenly stood up and melted into the sea of blond heads and wool tunics to, Cearo assumed, find Aelfrid. Wishing once again the earth would open up beneath her and swallow her whole right now, she put her elbows on the table and rested her head on her hands, eyes closed.
After a minute or two, she decided to step outside for some fresh air and to clear her head as long as it had stopped raining. With a sigh, she stood up and threaded her way through the crowd toward the main door to see what the weather was.
The Valar must've decided to let something go right for her that day because the rain had stopped and it was possible to see the moon now and again in breaks between the clouds as they floated by high in the night sky.
Outside, she went a short distance away from the small crowd that had gathered around the tavern, preferring the company of horses to that of people, specifically the company of Sherwyn and Osric.
"What a day." She rested her head and shoulders against Osric's side. "You have no idea how much I'd love to untie you from the rail and let you gallop until you felt like slowing down." Idly, she braided part of the horse's charcoal black mane. "I wonder what your dad would say about your mane being braided. The way I'd do it, he'd probably have a fit because he'd see the braids as too girly and a threat to your masculinity." She snorted. "Men are stupid sometimes, Osric. They geld colts at two years but get upset about things like flowers and fancy braids. It's a little late to worry after you cut his balls off, know what I mean, Osric?" The horse whickered, as if in agreement. Cearo laughed under her breath. "Glad you agree. I've missed you."
"Am I the only one you will not talk to?"
Cearo spun around, startled by Aelfrid's voice.
"Clean out your ears; I've said plenty." She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and regarded him with annoyance. "It's not my fault if you haven't been listening."
"I heard you well enough earlier when you told me you didn't want anything to do with me ever again."
"I did not say I didn't want anything to do with you ever again. I told you—because you had been pestering and harassing me despite my telling you to leave me alone and I didn't want to talk just then and then you kissed me with out warning—I didn't want anything to do with you for the rest of the day. To stay away from me for the rest of the day. I was mad and frustrated because you refused to leave me alone and kept demanding answers when I don't have any!" As she became more worked up, her arms had dropped and by the end, she was gesturing emphatically. "No one gives me any peace to figure out what I want. Everyone wants answers right now and when I say I'm not sure, everyone acts like I've just said I'd rather marry a warg. All I want is to be left alone to think but you can't do that! You think if you harass me long enough I'll tell you what you want to hear. News flash: keep it up long enough and I'll be telling you what you don't want to hear. Right now, I'm so upset and hurt by your acting like a complete ass I'd sooner spend my time with Brego. He is acting like a man, not a little boy, and he has been nothing but polite and respectful today. Speaking of Brego, I promised him a dance, so if you'll excuse me…" Cearo brushed past Aelfrid as she returned to the celebration. To her relief, Aelfrid made no attempt to grab her arm or stop her.
Scanning the room, Cearo spotted Brego at the bar with Kenric and Tellan and she made her way over to them.
"I think you three have had enough ale tonight," she chided the brothers, the younger two leaning heavily against the bar for support. "Stick to water or you'll be too drunk to stay on your horse going home."
"I will tie myself into the saddle." Brego, eyes dancing with amusement, raised his mug a bit in her direction, and then took a long swallow. "Ma's made them drink water and juice all night, and they came over here to try and talk me into getting ale for them."
"So did you?" Cearo asked dryly.
"Of course not. If I am going to die violently, it is going to be in battle, not at Ma's hand because I helped Kenric and Tellan get drunk. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that would be?"
She cracked a wry smile. "I can imagine. If—when they're too drunk to stand at the end of the night, I'll vouch for you to Ma if she starts threatening to kill you where you stand. I bet they asked you for ale so they'd have an excuse for being drunk. They already can't stand on their own." Cearo gave Kenric and Tellan knowing looks and winked at them. "It's incredibly easy to sneak up, empty a mug, and put it back without anyone noticing. I doubt anyone would notice. The mug's owner, whenever they came back, would assume they'd finished it and didn't remember, and go get more."
"We did not!" Tellan protested, his words slightly slurred.
"You do that, too?" Kenric sounded only slightly less drunk than Tellan.
"If you're still steady on your feet," Cearo told to Brego, ignoring Kenric's question, "I'm available for the dance I promised you."
A broad smile spread across Brego's face and he set his mug down.
"Steadier than those two." He gave his brothers a stern look. "I will whip you myself if you sneak more ale." He stared at them until they both looked away, and then turned to Cearo. "Your timing is perfect. Another song just started."
Cearo let him take her hand and lead her to a less-crowded spot near the musicians. As much as he seemed to have changed, she was still wary of him and suspicious it was just an act. If he truly was less of an ass now, why had Rheda had such strong objections to her dancing with him? Maybe she wanted to avoid giving Aelfrid any reason to cause another scene. That, Cearo acknowledged to herself wryly, seemed entirely likely. Hopefully, Aelfrid would do everyone a favor and find a corner to sulk in and would stay there the rest of the night and Brego would continue to act like a decent human being.
"You surprised me earlier," Brego remarked as the dance began.
"I did?"
"I did not think you would dance with me."
"I surprise myself sometimes," Cearo said sardonically. "You're far better company tonight than—others." It sounded lame, even to her ears, and whom was she fooling? Everyone already knew something had happened between her and Aelfrid so there was no point not using his name.
"He is used to having his way with you—" Brego's face turned deep red. "I mean, he is not used to you refusing to go along with what he wants."
"I know what you meant." Cearo was trying hard not to laugh. So he had some sense of decency after all. Would wonders never cease? "There's a first time for everything, but enough about that. Helm told me you nearly lost Walda to colic. How is he doing?"
In Rohan, men loved their horses as much as men back home loved their cars, and Rohirric men would wax poetic and talk your ear off about their one true love for as long as you would let them. Back home, whenever her dad had some free time he'd go out into the garage with some of his friends, pop the hood on the speedster he was restoring, and spend hours standing around staring at the engine and talking about spark plugs, shocks, and carburetors. If horses had the equivalent of a hood, Cearo was sure she'd see men gathered around a friend's horse, its hood open and the inner workings revealed for all to see. The mental picture that gave her made her laugh, and she wondered what kinds of things the men would talk about 'souping up' or replacing with newer, better parts. As it was, they talked about breeding Acwel's stallion to one of Ramm's mares in hopes of producing a colt with the mare's long legs and the stallion's endurance and strength. Some things, she'd decided, never really changed. Horses weren't as hard to understand as cars, though.
Asking about Walda guaranteed Brego would spend most, if not all, the dance talking about his horse, sparing Cearo from having to make polite conversation and ensuring he wouldn't have an opportunity to press his own suit. She really did want to know how Walda was doing so she didn't have to fake being interest in what he was saying until he started to go into why horses fed hay from the meadow east of the house were more likely to get colic than if they were fed hay from the southern meadow, and how to decrease the risk of colic if you had to feed hay from the eastern meadow.
Dry, boring facts like that inevitably confused her and her real family had teased her about that, saying she was naturally blonde and her red hair was just a wig or hair dye, or how she must be adopted because no one else had trouble keeping things straight in their minds. When she'd realized she was stuck in Rohan permanently, a part of her had been relieved she'd never have to go to school again or try to memorize lists of names and dates that meant nothing to her beyond passing a test next week. Here, no one treated her like she was stupid. Here, they valued being able to tell a good story and having a green thumb and being able to weave cloth that fetched a good price in Edoras each year. If it hadn't been for the total lack of sanitation and hygiene and health care and household appliances and grocery stores and, now, the incessant pressure to marry Aelfrid, Rohan would've been perfect.
"You are not listening, are you?"
"Huh?" Cearo, embarrassed to have zoned out, hoped Brego had only just noticed her mind was somewhere else. "Sorry." She smiled sheepishly. "Everything about hay from the east meadow versus the south meadow was kind of confusing and I was trying to make it all make some sense."
"You should have said so, and I would have stopped."
Cearo's right foot caught on an uneven floorboard, causing her to stumble forward into Brego and knock him back a step or two.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to attack you like that," she joked as she regained her footing. "The floor decided to trip me."
"Maybe it's tired of being danced on by so many feet and wants everyone to leave."
"I'm the wrong one to trip, then. The only way I could make people leave is yell 'Fire!', but when people realized there wasn't any danger I'd probably be chased out of the village so the floor should go lodge its complaints with Helm or someone who can do something." They both laughed, and it escaped Cearo's notice Brego was holding her closer than he had been before she tripped.
Back at the bar after dancing, Cearo and Brego found Kenric and Tellan each holding a full mug of ale.
"They're not ours," Kenric said before Brego could start yelling at his brothers. "You can ask Brecca. They're yours. He refilled yours, brother—" Tellan pushed the mug he was holding toward Brego, ale slopping over the rim "—and this one—" he extended the mug he was holding toward Cearo "—is for the woman many men adore."
"What?" Cearo's voice was shrill as she grabbed at the bar for support, suddenly lightheaded. "What are you talking about?"
"Brecca and me," Kenric explained, his smile faltering. "He's decided to leave Dagmar and he says to tell you he'll ask Pa for permission to court you after you're twenty, just like he said earlier. I told him not to waste his time because why would you choose him when you could have me?" Kenric grinned and struck what was supposed to be a heroic pose but he was unsteady on his feet and ended up looking more like one of the fools that entertained the crowds at Edoras.
It was all a joke. The relief that flooded through her was so intense she almost started crying. Brecca and Kenric were taking the mickey. She should've expected that from Kenric.
"I want a man, not a boy, so you're out of luck." Laughter and catcalls erupted. "Ask again when you can grow a beard. Brecca has a beard and Dagmar already trained him to know his place, which saves me a lot of time and hassle. Sorry, dear." Cearo lightly patted Kenric's cheek. "Some things aren't meant to be."
"I am not that easily discouraged." Kenric grabbed Cearo's mug from her and raised it high. "With Bema as my witness, I vow I will not rest until you are mine!" The heartfelt declaration earned him a chorus of encouragements and laughter.
"Give me the mug back and I might drop the beard requirement." She put her hands on her hips and gave him a Look.
"I am making progress already!" Kenric said brightly. "Bema is on my side!"
"Bema's too busy with his own affairs to notice a lovesick boy," Cearo chided as she lightly swatted Kenric upside the head. "You confuse progress with being told what you wanted to hear so you'd give me the mug back. If you were a few years older, though…you'd have a chance. I love a guy who can make me laugh."
Kenric clasped his hands to his heart. "Did you hear that? She said she loves me! My life is complete!"
"And your head is empty!" someone called. "Don't give up all hope, boy! That one is determined not to marry. You may be the only one who'll have her in the end!"
"You are very wrong," Brego muttered.
His words washed over Cearo like a flood of ice water and she gripped the mug tightly between her hands for a moment before setting it down on the bar.
"I need to find Ma," she told Kenric and Tellan before turning and pushing into the crush.
Dagmar, not Rheda, was at the table with Wilone.
"I told her and Algar to go dance and have fun," Dagmar explained when Cearo asked where Rheda was. "Is something wrong?"
"What isn't?" Cearo said sardonically as she sat down next to Dagmar. "Just Brego saying something under his breath that made me uneasy. Nothing terrible," she added quickly. "Compared to everything else today, it's nothing. Kenric was acting like a clown, pretending he's totally in love with me and how hopeful my saying if he were five years older he'd stand a chance made him feel. Someone decided to be a wit and told Kenric he may be the only one who'll want to marry me. Brego muttered something about how they were wrong, and I decided it was a good time to leave. Like I said, nothing compared to everything else today. Oh, Kenric says Brecca has decided to leave you and is going to ask Pa for permission to court me when I turn twenty in a few days."
Dagmar nodded, chuckling. "I was wondering when he would decide to put me aside for a younger, prettier woman."
"Don't feel bad. I'll let him visit you on occasion, if you'd like." Cearo patted the older woman's shoulder sympathetically. "Would you mind teaching me the right way to beat him with a broom?"
"Come by tomorrow morning. In the afternoon you can help me find a new husband. Ardith's oldest boy is not yet married and he has the most striking eyes. I think we would make a handsome couple."
"A very handsome couple," Cearo said with a laugh. "Why do you want me to help you find a new husband if you already have him picked out?"
"If I am with you, I am obviously not bothered, now am I?" She winked at Cearo. "Why should he have all the fun? If my lout of a husband wants to replace me with a woman who has firmer breasts and all her teeth, I will replace him with a man who has all his teeth and a gut that does not threaten to spill over the top of his trousers."
"And the theign's servants think the village is dull and boring." Both women laughed.
While Cearo and Dagmar were talking, Wilone had wiggled free of Dagmar's arms and moved onto Cearo's lap, where she made herself comfortable and went to sleep.
"She's going to be devastated when you leave." Dagmar nodded at Wilone, who had started to drool in her sleep on Cearo's overdress. "It wouldn't surprise me if she ended up living with you and Aelfrid—whoever you marry," she amended quickly.
"Not you, too." Cearo sighed, annoyed and frustrated. "I swear, everyone is determined to see me marry Aelfrid and plans to pester me until I agree just so you'll leave me alone, if you all don't drive me insane first." She tried to gently close Wilone's mouth, but every time Cearo moved the girl's jaw, it immediately went slack again as soon as Cearo moved her hand away. Finally, she gave it up as a lost cause. There was infinitely worse things she'd had to wash out of her overdress in the past and toddler drool would be the least of her laundry problems the next time she washed her clothes.
"You two are in love and do not tell me I am wrong. You do not live to forty without learning about love, and I know what I see." She smoothed loose hair out of Cearo's face. "When I was your age, I did not want to marry, either. I was satisfied working in the garden and making things grow, and saw no reason anything should change."
"I never said I don't want to marry. I said I do not see any reason to be in a hurry to marry as soon as possible. I do want to marry and be a mother, and I'll do that when the time is right." Cearo held Wilone closer and silently fumed about how everyone thought not going nuts about marrying the first guy to come along meant she never wanted to marry at all, ever. What would it take for people to understand, screaming at them while she beat them with a stick?
Dagmar acted as if she hadn't heard Cearo. "Papa wanted me to marry the fourth son of a man who lived in the village to the east and was furious when I refused." An amused expression floated across her face and she smiled wryly for a moment. "Everyone was talking about how stubborn and ungrateful and stupid I was, but the boy—man my father wanted me to marry was rude to his mother, always snapping at her about things she did that annoyed him and making demands and expecting her to obey immediately. He was short-tempered with the horses, too. I decided I would rather risk remaining unmarried and alone than risk how that man would treat me if we married. It would also be less of a scandal to not marry him than if we married and I divorced him. Mama tried to convince me to change my mind, but I had made up my mind and nothing was going to change it. Like you."
"When did you meet Brecca and how did he change your mind about spending the rest of your life in the garden?" Cearo bit back the urge to correct Dagmar about her not wanting to marry, knowing it would be a waste of breath. The only thing she'd dug her heels in on was not rushing into something she wasn't sure about. That everyone else took that as an outright refusal wasn't her fault. Besides, it was fun to hear Dagmar talk about how she'd been a rebel and refused to do what other people wanted her to do. It was hard to imagine her as someone like that; someone who had taken chances and not always followed the rules and stood up to her parents. Cearo wondered what Rheda had been like when she was younger. Had she been cool, too?
Dagmar thought for a moment, smiling softly.
"It was two years later. My parents sent me to live here, with my mother-sister, Orva, and her husband, Wurt, because of all the talk. They hoped if people did not see me they would forget what happened and all the talk would stop. They lived just outside the village to the west and because the farm was close it was easy for Wurt to meet friends at the tavern for ale and talk about crops and horses."
"Among other things." Cearo traded knowing smiles with Dagmar. She didn't know specifically what, exactly, the men talked about but she had a good idea. Whatever the topic, there would be lots of boasting and exaggeration. Pissing contests, her real dad had called them. There were lots of those, he'd said, in the Army and when he'd been deployed to the Persian Gulf in 1990 as a medic, there had been lots of pissing contests about how far and accurately soldiers could shoot and how small a target they were capable of hitting. Some of the boasting her dad had told her about was ridiculous. Being able to hit the longest hair on a camel's tail from half a mile away? The more tired and drunk the soldiers were, the funnier the pissing contests were. Cearo's mom had been furious with her dad for teaching Cearo 'pissing contests', but that's what dads were for, to teach you dirty words and other things that would make your mom freak if she ever found out.
"So is that how you met Brecca? He and Wurt were friends and he came to the farm?"
"No." Dagmar shook her head slightly, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. "Regularly, my mother-sister had me to go to the tavern and make sure Wurt left while he was still able to walk mostly straight." Her smiled widened. "I wasn't always successful. Brecca helped his father run the tavern then and the nights Wurt could not make it home—and he wasn't the only one—Brecca and his father made sure he didn't end up sleeping in whatever ditch he managed to stumble into walking home."
"Ho! Ho! Ho! To the bottle I go," Cearo quipped blithely. "Rain may fall and wind my blow and many miles be still to go, but under a tall tree I will lie and let the clouds go sailing by."
Dagmar laughed. "I like that. You have a gift with words."
"Oh, I didn't make that up." Cearo felt herself blushing. "A…storyteller where I come from did, and many others. He was very good at it. How long did Brecca and his father move your uncle before Brecca asked if you wanted to help him move drunks with him for the rest of your life?"
"Two months. After Brecca and his father moved Wurt, Brecca would walk me home and we would talk. Wurt always loved to have 'one more, Dagmar, dear. Just one more'. He always made me swear I would not tell my mother-sister so he wouldn't get in trouble." She laughed. "It was an easy promise to make because I rarely had to keep anything from my mother-sister because Wurt did not make it home most of those nights, and when my mother-sister woke the next morning and he was not with her she knew he'd had 'just one more'. He always arrived back home not long after dawn and she always yelled at him. When he died, I was surprised when she told me what she missed most was yelling at him for coming in at dawn. Truly; that is what she told me. She hated it because, she explained, she woke up alone each morning and knew he was gone forever, not just delayed because he'd been too drunk to make it home the night before."
"She must have loved him very much. How lucky you married for love, too." How incredibly touching and romantic and sweet! Cearo willed herself not to start crying.
"They were not in love, Cearo. It was never love. They eventually became good friends and enjoyed each other's company, but they were never in love, and I was not in love with Brecca when we married. He was someone I knew I would have a good life with and he would treat me well. My parents came and met him and approved of him and we married the next month."
"What about now? Do you love him now?" Was she the only one who cared if she loved her husband? She'd thought Helm and Elfhild were in love and that's why they'd married, but now she wondered. Was she the only female in the village over the age of ten whom thought love was important and didn't think it was foolish not to marry a man you didn't love? 'They're all channeling Charlotte Lucas,' Cearo thought sardonically. If the other women wanted to settle for a Mr. Collins and end up unhappy and unsatisfied, they were welcome to it. She was going to hold out for her Mr. Darcy (or Mr. Bingley or Colonel Fitzwilliam; she wasn't picky). In the end, everyone who had pestered and pressured her would have to eat their words and admit she'd been right not to settle for the first man to come along.
"I married one of the few truly wonderful men to ever walk Middle Earth and I doubt any woman could ever be happier or more content than I have."
"So you love him." Statement, not a question.
"What does it matter?" Dagmar shrugged. "I have had a very good life. My husband is a good man who is well respected, we have never faced starvation, and I have seen several of my children married and start families of their own and my youngest is soon to be married. I have never been romantic, child. I have never had any reason not to be happy and content, and that is enough."
Cearo wondered if it mattered to Dagmar that Brecca adored her and practically worshipped the ground she walked on. Did she know how good she had it; how many women would have traded places with her in a heartbeat? The questions were heavy on the tip of her tongue but she kept the thoughts to herself. Dagmar was right. Cearo was the only one who cared about love and romance, so who cared if Dagmar loved Brecca or not? She was clearly fond of her husband and appreciated him and their life together.
"You're right; it doesn't," Cearo admitted. Changing the subject, she said, "Brego's actually been tolerable tonight. It's like he and Aelfrid switched personalities. I danced with him a little while ago and had a lot of fun and I'd dance with him again if he asked."
Dagmar raised an eyebrow. "Would that be wise?"
"Why not? What's the problem with dancing with any of—my cousins more than once—other than Aelfrid? I've danced with Kenric several times and he said he wants to marry me and everyone thinks we're just two cousins having a good time."
"Brego is not Kenric. Brego is a man who wants to court you. iThat/i is the problem."
"Oh. Yeah." Cearo scowled at no one in particular. "It's so stupid he would think it meant anything if I danced with him again when I've danced more than once with several men tonight, some of them unmarried."
Dagmar chuckled. "What would you think, child, if someone who has always tried to keep their distance was suddenly did not mind spending time with you?"
"You mean like Brego has tonight? I'd wonder if he was putting on an act to try and make me think he'd changed so I would agree to let him court me. Real or not, if he has any hopes I'll change my mind by my birthday, he's going to be very disappointed."
"For everyone's sake, I hope he is sincere."
"So do I." Cearo sighed and looked down at Wilone. "She's not the only one who'll be devastated if we're not together. Rheda may have to deal with both of us having a fit unless Wilone moves with me." She lightly kissed the top of Wilone's head. "I'm open to sharing custody if Rheda is."
"What do you mean, 'sharing custody'? What is that?"
Cearo shook her head slightly. "Just something from where I grew up. It means I am willing to agree that Wilone will live with me some of the time and Rheda some of the time. I was only joking," she added quickly when she saw Dagmar's expression. "Wilone and I will have to adjust to only seeing each other on visits, as hard as that will be." When Cearo had gone to Elfhild's, it had been nice for a few days not to have Wilone always right there, hanging onto her skirts or following after her or wanting to be picked up, but she soon felt like she was missing something important and wouldn't be entirely whole again until Wilone was back hanging onto her skirt and chattering away. Trying to convince Rheda to let Wilone live with her when she married had crossed her mind more than once, but she'd pushed it away. Wilone was Rheda's only surviving daughter and it would be incredibly selfish to expect Rheda to let Wilone go because it would make Cearo feel better. Borrowing her for a few days now and again, though…that was something else entirely.
Between the effects of the cider and the long day, Cearo was entirely content to sit at the table, holding Wilone, until it was time to go home. What she really wanted to do was find somewhere to curl up and sleep until it was time to leave and have someone carry her home, but that wasn't likely to happen.
"You have no idea how good you have it," she said quietly to the little girl. "Right now, I'd love to fall asleep on someone and have them carry me home, but people expect you to stay awake and they make you walk home when you're grown up. Being a kid is way more fun than being an adult so don't believe anyone who says it isn't." She smiled wryly at the mental picture of someone carrying her limp, sleeping form to their horse and shifting her to the horse so she was draped over its neck before mounting and riding away, her arms swinging and body bouncing as the horse walked.
Dagmar nudged her. "What are you laughing at?"
"Nothing. Just wishing I could do like Wilone and fall asleep and have someone carry me home. I was picturing someone draping me, while I was asleep, over their horse's neck and how I'd bounce and flop as the horse walked." She smiled sanguinely. "I think I'd rather be awake for the ride home. Would you mind holding Wilone for a bit? I'm going to try and sweet talk Kenric into letting me ride home with him tonight. Maybe I'll promise to marry him if he lets me."
"Tease," Dagmar chided as Cearo carefully shifted the sleeping child into her arms.
"You do what you need to." Cearo gave a wink and a smile, stood up, and—
Sat back down quickly when she saw Aelfrid coming toward her and Dagmar.
"Oh, lovely," Cearo groaned under her breath. "Now what?"
Dagmar glanced in the direction Cearo was looking. "You don't know what he wants, so stop thinking the worst."
"Considering how rude he was the last two times I had to talk to him…"
"Maybe he is coming to apologize."
"And maybe pigs—No offense, but I'll believe that when it happens. He's been an argumentative ass all night and I doubt things have changed."
"More amazing things have happened, child." Dagmar gave Cearo's arm a quick squeeze. "Stop looking like you'd gut him as soon as look at him—even if that is how you feel."
"Him first." She took a deep breath and tried to relax her expression, forcing herself to think about how it must be in the house now that Wilone had brought in Morwen and all her kittens instead of how she wanted to get Aelfrid up on the roof of the barn and push him down into the manure pile. Actually, maybe thinking about that wasn't such a bad idea. Imagining him covered in manure, face smeared with shit, as the flies swarmed around his head had brought a huge smile to her face.
"Gives new meaning to 'shithead'," she murmured sarcastically. Suddenly, she was almost interested in hearing what he had to say.