Arenor slowed his ground-eating pace so that he might elongate their time in the hall together, yet he found it awkward to stroll rather than stride with purpose. He raised an eyebrow as Nikolas spoke. Indeed, he found it difficult to overcome suspicion, if not toward the nobleman, than of the court multitudes he must soon face. "You informed them? I doubt that will spare us certain questions," or attempts at baiting, he thought. "However, you know these courtiers, whereas I do not." His tense voice smoothed a bit at Nikolas' declaration of support. He slowed even further, almost to a halt on the glittering ivory floors.<br/><br/>"I believe you," he said, surprised by the words and the sincerity with which he felt them. For a moment, Arenor leveled the full intensity of his gaze to the other man. They'd no time for such introspections, but he wondered at this loyalty Nikolas offered to him, almost a stranger, someone who had usurped his position without apology. He ought to suspect loyalty from such a person and he had, last night, with undercurrents even through this morning, Part of his soul found this difficult to accept, but clearly the fates had been kind in leading him to Nikolas.<br/><br/>With a nod, Arenor released Nikolas from his sharp gaze and picked up the pace beside him once more. A dry chuckle escaped him as their talk shifted to dancing. "One of the best dancers? I can well believe that." The slender nobleman at his side held the self-possessed grace of a gliding bird, perhaps. Not that Arenor was graceless, but one might as well compare a swan to a hawk. He couldn't imagine himself with his hunter's tensions upon a dance floor.<br/><br/>Now Arenor shot Nikolas a sidelong look, as he considered the man's latter comment. "Only as respite from the other noblemen? That, I find more difficult to believe." Perhaps the women here preferred rough-hewn men, but the nobleman's prestige and good looks ought to have netted him some attention, or so he would have assumed, unless he was married already. "Your feet may require armor for our lessons," he said, a bit of a jest despite his serious tone. Truly, he would rather learn court dancing in some far-off palace corner today than face the hostile men and women at court. He hardened himself against that thought. After all, what must be, must be.<br/><br/>Soon they reached the vaulting doors they must pass together, behind which murmurs and whispers floated to Arenor's ears, male voices mostly and unintelligible. Arenor gazed hard at the crimson and gilt trimming upon the doors, an old runic-type language of his own ancestors, perhaps, and as alien to him as the faces that hung upon his walls in his quarters. He traced one of the sigils with his scarred pointer finger and then turned to face Nikolas. "I understand," he said, in clipped tones. Arenor's guts knotted like fish nets beneath his finery. He'd cut down demons with less indecision than he felt now.  He stood ramrod straight and the hints of good humor and calm evaporated from his face, until he resembled one of his family portraits indeed, if a darker one.