I became aware, listening to them, that I was not their only threat. Far to the east of Hrothgar’s hall there was a new hall a-building, its young king gaining fame.
“I offer you my sister,” the young king said. “Let her name from now on be Wealtheow, or holy servant of common good.”
I changed my mind. It would be meaningless, killing her. As meaningless as letting her live. It would be, for me, mere pointless pleasure, an illusion of order for this one frail, foolish flicker-flash in the long dull fall of eternity.