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"Aye?" Asked Tyron, propping himself against his shoulder in the doorway, arms crossed. Rogar nodded, swallowing hard.
"I wanted to say that I'm sorry for the disrespect I gave ye, as a young man. I appreciate that ye never left my guts for the crows, and I'm honored to call ye a brother," Rogar fought the urge to mutter, making himself meet the other man's eye.
Tyron cracked a friendly grin.
"Well thank ye, Rogar," he told him, clapping him on the shoulder affectionately. "That means a lot, from ye." Rogar nodded and swallowed awkwardly, but Tyron was jovial.
"There's not many I'd've tolerated it from," he admitted easily, "but you'd just lost your da when I came over the mountain, and it was hard not to take a like to ye, poor lad. Not that Karla gave me much choice," he added, looking sidelong at Rogar with a smirk.
"...and I might ha' left off o' her for her attachment to you, but it seemed a petty thing to do when ye were still more boy than man, and far from bein' a husband yet."
He paused in thoughtful contemplation of the landscape outside his door, going on more quietly, "but where I come from it's an honor and a gift to share a wife, not a source o' shame."
"Sounds about right," Rogar muttered to his boots, holding out his hand for the other man to shake robustly.
"Gods be with ye, brother," Tyron blessed, waving farewell.
***
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