#hjolrin

A crossbow bolt seared past his ear, missing the dragon by a several feet. The beast dropped low, over the ruins of an old watchtower, and its talons skimmed across what was left of the stone. A chunk of masonry landed with a thud in the dirt.

'That's helping, is it? Aye, I see, really helpful.'

'Shut up.'

The second bolt found its mark on the dragon's soft belly, but had about as much effect as the miss. A blast of fire tore along the river bank. The dragon ignored every hail of arrows from the guards, Haaki's crossbow bolts, the indignant barking of the dogs, and continued to sweep across the landscape carving out a path of blackened, smoking ruins. Nothing could persuade it to land.

'Joor zah frul!'

One thing could persuade it to land.

The sound of fifty tonnes of dragon crashing onto the plains echoed against the mountains, off the earth, down into Trond's core. He ignored it and ran forwards, drawing his sword, already knowing who he would find on the other side of the battlefield. Beside him, keeping pace, Haaki dropped the crossbow and unhooked his axe from his belt.

Trond's guess was right. As he drew alongside the dragon, someone skidded past him, nocked an arrow and fired with considerably more accuracy than Haaki at the dragon's eye. There was no time to congratulate her on the shot before she was off again to line up another shot. Trond wasn't sure if he could have got the words out anyway. This was not the Arlain he knew.

He could happily have stayed where he was, on the edge of the fight, sword pointing purposefully but not actually doing anything, if it hadn't been for Haaki. Not to be outdone by his sister-in-law – or erstwhile nemesis, Trond didn't know which Haaki considered Arlain these days – he was swinging his axe towards a knee, and only a last-second dive from Trond, shield raised, stopped him being bowled over by a wave of rubble coming in from the side. Haaki didn't appear to notice. He muttered some words Ma Boar-Chaser would have been shocked to hear in her baby son’s mouth and charged forwards again.

Between them, and with the constant fire from the other guards, they brought the dragon to its knees, although how long it took Trond couldn’t guess. Towards the end, panting, exhausted, bleeding in at least three places, he watched the arrows sailing overhead, and although they were lead by Arlain's shots he noticed another, errant arrow, coming from a different direction. As the dragon stooped and whined, finally brought down by – what else? – Arlain skimming her shield towards its knee, he dared to pause and follow this other trajectory, squinting his eyes against the raging light gathering around Arlain. At the edge of the treeline, Hjolrin nodded to himself and fastened his bow into its place on his back.

None of the guards saw. They were crowding around their old colleague, some too awestruck to speak, others whispering. Those who used to work alongside Arlain, the same ones who had refused to train her as a rookie, were now vociferous in their praise. Loudest of all was Jorvin.

'Dovahkiin! Coming back to help us! By all I hold sacred!'

The memory of Jorvin stood in the river, soaked to the skin, smelling of sewer water, while Arlain rescued his stolen scarf was one which still served to keep Trond warm at night. Hearing him grovelling should have been equally satisfying. Instead, Trond saw Arlain's shoulders stiffen, saw her mouth set, heard her total silence, and pushed his way to the front of the throng.

'That's a pile of mammoth dung. She's not The Dovahkiin. She's Arlain. She's one of us. Part of the guardsman family. Right, Arlain?'

She said nothing. Jorvin, unwisely, kept talking.

'She defeated the dragon! No mere man could bring down that beast!'

'She did that? She did? All right, maybe she helped, but it's got nothing to do with being dragonborn. It's all to do with me training her. Isn't that right? It's all because she got a good guardsman's training under her belt. We killed the dragon. And we'll be celebrating it at the Bannered Mare tonight. Someone go and tell the Commander.'

Mention of the inn successfully derailed the argument, and the guards began marching, in ragtag fashion, back towards the town walls. They were in no hurry. With enough dawdling, their shift would be over by the time they got back, and nobody wanted to chase petty sweetroll thieves around after taking down a dragon, not when drinks at the Mare were in the offing. Trond waited until they were gone before he turned to Arlain.

It was then he remembered Haaki, who stood like a wraith behind her, almost as sullen and quiet as Arlain herself. Trond regretted his haste. Maybe the guardsmen family was easier to handle than his real one, after all.

'Look, if you two are going to kill each other, can you wait until I've gone? Otherwise I'll have to explain it to Hjoll, and it'll be awkward, and I'm tired. He's over there, by the way.'

'I know.' These were the first words Trond had heard Arlain speak – the first words not in an ancient Dragon language, anyway – and somehow he wasn't surprised. She glanced towards the trees, where Hjolrin, satisfied that he wouldn't have to deal with strangers, was making his way towards them, then turned to Haaki. Her face was stony. 'Thanks for y'help. Y'did... good.'

Trond could almost see the word thanks sticking in his brother's throat, resulting in a half-hearted mumble. Dog and Splendid, however, were more forthright with their thanks, and at least when they nuzzled affectionately against Arlain's hand Haaki didn't call them off. It was a step towards reparations, at least, and quite a large one for Haaki.

Their reunion didn't last much longer. After exchanging a few words with Hjolrin, and getting a promise from the pair to have dinner together soon, both Haaki and Trond returned towards the city. Haaki separated at the turning to the Boar-Chaser Farm. Trond carried on through the gates and, after a brief detour to change out of his uniform in the barracks, up to the Wind District, and home.

He was so lost in his thoughts that the bundle of stickiness and blonde hair which barrelled into his knees almost knocked him over. Amelie bounced in circles around him while he caught his breath, evidently unconcerned by the bloody smears and bruises.

'Pa! Pa! There was a dragon! Is it gonna eat us?'

'No, sweetroll, it's dead now. You know who killed it?'

'You!'

It never got old. Trond nodded and swung her up into his arms.

'That's right. With some help from Aunt Arlain and Uncle Haaki.'

'Auntie Arlain always fights dragons, doesn't she?' Amelie squeezed her arms around his shoulders as he carried her through to the kitchen. 'Is she a god?'

The question took Trond by surprise, so much so that he almost neglected to give Joldi a kiss in greeting. As punishment, she held the ladle of soup away from him and refused to let him have a taste, waving towards the table instead.

'Hello, dear. You can wait for your dinner like everyone else.'

'But--'

'It's nearly ready anyway.'

Wary of crossing anyone who would provide him with food, Trond sat down next to Amelie. She hadn't forgotten her question, more was the pity, and poked his sleeve with her little wooden spoon.

'Pa? Is Auntie Arlain a god?'

'No. No, she's not a god. She's your aunt, she can't be a god.'

'But you said she shouts dragons outta the sky!'

'Aye, well, she does, but--'

'I never sawed anyone else who shouts dragons outta the sky!'

After the reaction of the guards, who used to consider Arlain as one of them, and trying to smooth things over between her and Haaki, this was the last thing Trond wanted to deal with, especially when Joldi was setting out hunks of freshly baked bread on the table. He took a deep breath.

'Listen, Amelie. She's your aunt. She's family. And even if she was a god, which she isn't... family comes first, sometimes.'

'Cheer up, lad.’ Thehunter dropped a hand onto his shoulder, large and rough and heavy,as the rest of the group gathered in around them. 'You’re young.You’ll grasp it in time, with practice.’

After a whole weekspent in Riverwood, watching the hunters at work whenever Minnel tookher eye off him long enough to sneak out after them, Hjolrin doubtedthis, but when he looked up it was hard not take some heart fromSvend’s words. The Nord only lowered his voice from a commandingboom, the boom which carried it across plains in the midst of thehunt, when he felt strongly about a subject. The quieter it was, themore heartfelt his words, and now it was soft and gentle.

'What say I take youon a hunt with the bow? You liked that. See if I can’t teach you totrack at the same time.’ They left the meadow and plunged into theforest, Hjolrin scrambling over stumps and roots, Svend gliding overthem like a ship over the peaks and troughs of waves. 'Try now. Theseventy-two signs of the stag. Go.’

'Slots. Creeps. Browselines. The fraying post. Old velvet.’

'But only in thespring and summer. This time of year, the antlers’ll be clean.’

'When do they dropthem?’

'Bucks’ll cast them ina month or two from now, round about Sun’s Dusk. Does keep them 'tilafter the first calves are born in Second Seed. Now carry on.’

'Fords. Lying uppatches. Stripped bark…’

By the time theyreached Riverwood and packed away the hunting nets, Hjolrin hadlisted fifty-nine signs of the stag, and would have made it a roundsixty if it weren’t for the thunder of footsteps and voices tumblingout of the Sleeping Giant Inn. He started, dropping the rope, and thebells clattering across the floor wasn’t enough to drown out thevoices of his siblings. Minnel and Brandrel led the charge.

'Hjoll! Pa’s here! Itold you not to go wanderingoff.’

'We’re going home tosee the baby! It was born yesterday and it’s a boy. We got a newbrother.’

Svend picked up therope and looped it around his arms a few times.

'Looks like I’m losingmy new apprentice,’ he said. 'Come back and visit, y'hear? You’rewelcome any time if you want to learn how to hunt.’

'Aye. Please.’

'Kyne walk with you.’

And he was gone,loping off, bow slung over one shoulder, into the cover of ferns andpines, as Minnel surrounded Hjolrin and hustled him along the path.Pa Boar-Chaser left his post leaning against the inn porch and strodeahead on the path to Whiterun.

Hjolrin drifted to theback of the procession. At the gate out of Riverwood he paused tostare down the road, and on the bridge he stopped entirely until asmall, sticky hand tugged at his sleeve. He glanced down to findTrond’s round, pink face, clearly weighed down by troubles too muchfor a six year old to bear alone, his other hand gripping his littleleather bag close to his side.

'All right, Trond?’

'No.’

This was not conduciveto much conversation. Aware that they were losing their family to thepath ahead, Hjolrin let his youngest – formerly his youngest –brother tug him onward, in a silence which wasn’t broken until theyrounded the corner which brought the Whiterun Plains into view. WhileHjolrin squinted at the city walls and the distant smoke spreadingacross the sky, Trond slithered down the shortcut in the bank, andwaited for his brother to join him before he announced,

'Brandy said they’regonna sell me.’

Hjolrin stoppedpatting the mud off his legs.

'Who?’

'Ma and Pa. He saidwhen there’s a new baby you gotta make room for it by selling one ofthe others. And he looks after the goats and Minnel looks after thecows and you’re a hunter now, so he said they gotta sell me.’

'Don’t think so.Didn’t sell anyone when you were born.’ He started to walk, thenstopped. There was a book at the bottom of the bank, dislodged by abump against a stone, and no sooner had he stooped to investigatethan Trond snatched it away from under his fingers. 'That yours?’

'Aye. The inn persongave it to me. It’s about a giant.’ Trond stowed it into his littlesack, thumping it until it was well-hidden at the bottom. 'Don’t tellBrandy, he said books are for milk-drinkers. I don’t want to be amilk-drinker.’

'I won’t.’

'Promise?’

'Promise.’

The exchange seemed tohave reassured Trond. He hummed a tune picked up from the SleepingGiant to himself, and Hjolrin found his attention drifting to thelight between the trees, looking for slots in the ground and thebrowse lines in the leaves. When they set foot on the plain andfollowed the shadows of Pa, Minnel and Brandrel, however, the hummingstopped. Trond dragged his feet through the heather.

'Hjoll?’

'Aye?’

'I hate babies. I wantto sit by the river and read my book and never go home. Why do wehave to have a new brother? We were happy before.’

'Dunno.’

'Will I have to lookafter him?’

'Nah. Ma 'n Pa’ll doit.’

'What if they don’twant to? What if he’s really really naughty?’

'We’ll make Minnel andBrandy look after him.’

Satisfied once again,Trond resumed his humming, prodding Hjolrin until he chimed in with a harmony. The song carried them up to the Boar-Chaser Farm. At the gate, a wheaten wolfhound ambled up and butted her head into Hjolrin’s chest, to Trond’sevident amusement, and he tried to wave away the nose snuffling intohis hair.

'Grosta. Down.’

'She missed you.’ Pacalled the wolfhound to his side with a whistle and held open thefront door. 'Come on. Minnel and Brandrel are already in with Ma.’

They followed Grostaupstairs to Ma’s bedroom, where the wolfhound charged past Minnel andinstalled herself in pride of place, muzzle resting on the bed andgazing, with the unfettered adoration only a dog could achieve, atthe mother and child tucked in beneath the blankets.

Ma, more usually foundbutchering a rabbit for dinner, hammering fences into place, orprowling the edge of the farm scaring off wolves, lay with her eyesclosed and her head resting against the pillows. Her arms were still,wrapped around a bundle of cloth which smelled of herbs and soap andthe alchemist’s cheapest healing potions. When Trond thumped againstthe bed and tried to clamber up, only to be tugged back by Brandrel,she opened her eyes and smiled, which was unusual enough in itself.Ma’s fondness normally took the form of chivvying and chiding herbrood with a long-suffering sort of weariness, and if she did smileit was big, toothy, and administered with a slap on the back. Thiswas small and tired, and deeply, untouchably content.

'This is Haaki,’ shesaid. 'Your brother. Come and say hello. No, Trond, stop poking him.’

'I hate him.’

'You haven’t even seenhim yet. Sit here, you can hold him. Hjoll, make sure he looks afterhim. I went through a lot of trouble for that baby and I’m not havingyou drop him in the first five minutes.’

That sounded more likethe Ma they knew. Brandrel ushered Hjolrin forwards to sit on the bedbeside Trond, wriggling in against Ma’s legs and the folds of theblankets until he could offer an arm to rest the baby’s head on. Oncethey were all in position, Minnel moved the bundle reverently fromMa’s arms to Trond’s, and they had their first real sight of theiryoungest brother.

Haaki, one day old,looked to Hjolrin’s eyes much like all the other babies he hadencountered. Small, and puffy, a bit blotchy where the healer hadbeen overzealous with her tools. Cute if a person liked that sort ofthing. Not so much for someone whose head remained full of stagsigns, running the hare, and the perfect trajectory of an arrow inflight, but from the cooing of his siblings he gathered that thisbaby was somehow superior to, for example, the Battle-Born girl onthe farm down the road.

He studied Trondinstead. His other younger brother’s hostility was fading, but heremained skeptical, and settled on disgust when the baby sucked in adeep breath through puckered lips, scowled without opening its eyes,and began to wail. Trond thrust the bundle back so quickly Hjolrinhad to pitch forward to keep his hand beneath the baby’s head.

'Ma, it’s crying!’

'Oh, give him here.Mara forbid you should ever have children, if this is how you handle 'em.’ Ma folded the baby into her arms, where the screams subsidedinto whimpers and then steady breaths. 'Do you still hate him?’

Trond considered thequestion for some time.

'No. He’s all right.’

'Good. You’d betterplay nice with him, understood? That goes for the rest of you, too.’

'Of course, Ma.’

'Aye, Ma.’

'Aye.’

'I guess. If I gotto.’