"You'll show respect, boy and until you're able to do so, you may look at me or the floor when in this hall," Wulfgar ordered.

Aron almost choked on his outrage, but then dropped his gaze to the floor. It was better than the alternative. "Aye, my lord," he said through gritted teeth. Wulfgar loosened his grip on the leash, allowing him to breathe a little easier and they proceeded.

After they had walked around the hall thrice, Wulfgar sat down on a bench at the table nearest the fire and drew Aron down on his lap, roaring with laughter at a jest one of his battle lords made. Aron held himself stiff, his eyes sullen on the scarred tabletop, wishing he could sit on the bench next to him like Roman was. But there were small blessings, such as the table covering most of his nakedness, and Wulfgar seemed content to have him in his lap, not trying to kiss him or touch him beyond that.

The mead hall was a blaze of lights and noise Aron barely noticed, as he sank further into his own haze of anger and misery.

Wulfgar's voice breathed in his ear. "Does nothing appeal to you, boy?"

Aron stiffened again and raised his eyes to meet the thane's. He glanced down at the trencher of food set in front of the three of them, and the brimming mugs of ale, his nose wrinkling in distaste at the thought of food. He shook his head. "I'm not hungry, my lord."

Wulfgar snorted. "You will eat, boy. Believe me, you'll need your strength." He laughed, reaching for a piece of venison from the trencher and holding it to Aron's lips with an expectant look.

Aron ground his teeth together, his stomach lurching, and then leaned forward to take the bite from Wulfgar's fingers, his eyes closed so he wouldn't have to see the thane's triumph.

"Here boy, we have a fine brewer," Wulfgar said, pressing a mug into his hands.

Aron took the mug and began to drink. The ale was more soothing to his stomach than the food. Then Wulfgar turned his attention on Roman, to Aron's intense relief. The slave's eyes were lowered demurely on the trencher and he was sipping at his wine. Wulfgar caught Roman's chin, tipping his face upward and bestowed a smile upon him. "Would you like me to send for some honeyed fruit?"

"My lord is too kind, but no," the slave demurred.

Aron clutched his mug tighter, cutting a quick glare at the meek slave. He hadn't forgotten Wulfgar's smiles and fond glances cast the slave's way, when Aron had been trapped in his room. If the thane wanted the same from him, he was going to be disappointed. There had to be some way out of what lay ahead, then Aron thought of his croft in ruins his mother's cheeks hollowed with hunger and knew it couldn't. The idea of submitting was just as abhorrent and his mind ran back to trying to avoid going back to Wulfgar's room.