That Are did not reply immediately was heartening. It showed sincerity, at least, and a willingness to listen. Jigano swirled his beer gently in his battered mug, contemplating the beverage - and the tentative optimism that, outside the barrier, perhaps someone had managed to grow a decent grape, or sorted out the trick of a good cider. Until then, the beer was only preferable to the water if the water wasn't boiled first. Usually he went for something harder, but he needed his wits about him, and an important day ahead of him that he dared not risk a hangover for.
Ah well.
When Are began to speak, the bard returned his attention to the humble cobbler, listening intently and not interrupting until he was certain the other man had finished. He tilted his head in a semblance of approval at hearing that his forgiveness would not be asked, and nodded slowly at the declaration of acceptance of punishment. He sipped his own beer with far less gusto than Are had downed his, considering how he felt about all that had transpired between them - and others.
"Understanding, I can give," he allowed. His temper was still fresh enough from the previous night's insults that he wasn't in the most forgiving mood yet, but the rough man's heartfelt sincerity was unexpectedly touching. "And perhaps forgiveness, in time. I do not think Rory will ask any punishment of you, nor more will I. What's done is done, but if you go forward with a bit more patience, and a willingness to see both sides, I will be satisfied."
He sipped his beer again, grimacing slightly this time, and cocked a sardonic brow at the man across the table from him. "And for the record? I have been in more battles than I care to remember, though back then I wielded spells more readily than my sword. But my blade is still sharp, and I have not forgotten all that I learned of command, Are son of Jorm. Just because the skalds of your land do not fight, does not mean that those of other realms cannot do so. Or that words cannot be weapons in their own right."
Ah well.
When Are began to speak, the bard returned his attention to the humble cobbler, listening intently and not interrupting until he was certain the other man had finished. He tilted his head in a semblance of approval at hearing that his forgiveness would not be asked, and nodded slowly at the declaration of acceptance of punishment. He sipped his own beer with far less gusto than Are had downed his, considering how he felt about all that had transpired between them - and others.
"Understanding, I can give," he allowed. His temper was still fresh enough from the previous night's insults that he wasn't in the most forgiving mood yet, but the rough man's heartfelt sincerity was unexpectedly touching. "And perhaps forgiveness, in time. I do not think Rory will ask any punishment of you, nor more will I. What's done is done, but if you go forward with a bit more patience, and a willingness to see both sides, I will be satisfied."
He sipped his beer again, grimacing slightly this time, and cocked a sardonic brow at the man across the table from him. "And for the record? I have been in more battles than I care to remember, though back then I wielded spells more readily than my sword. But my blade is still sharp, and I have not forgotten all that I learned of command, Are son of Jorm. Just because the skalds of your land do not fight, does not mean that those of other realms cannot do so. Or that words cannot be weapons in their own right."
