#joldi

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.'

Trond sighed and wandered into their kitchen, unwinding his scarf from his neck. His face was still sore and blotched where his helmet, now back in its place in the barracks, had been pressing into it, and his feet were burning in their boots. Sure would be nice to have someone there to soothe him, he thought. Sure would be nice if he could sit down to a hot meal with the love of his life and tell her about the night shift, then hear about her day, the visit from her mother, Amelie's yearly inspection from the healer. Sure would be nice. Instead he lowered himself into an old chair, wincing as his muscles pushed against the wood, and looked around an empty house. Even Amelie was away, having a sleepover with her cousins at Uncle Hjolrin and Auntie Arlain's house so Trond could get some rest after a long night. It made the house feel silent and cold, despite the oven smouldering from Joldi's early baking and the sound of Whiterun waking up outside.

It wasn't exactly how Trond would have imagined married life, say, ten years ago. Ten years ago exactly, now that he thought about it. Their anniversary. He'd almost forgotten. How he'd almost forgotten he couldn't say. He held the day in his memory with absolute clarity. People called it the happiest day of their lives, or so Trond had heard, although he remembered it for somewhat different reasons.

x

'We gather here today, under Mara's loving gaze, to bear witness to the union of two souls in eternal companionship...'

A hiss, emanating from somewhere in the sea of Joldi's relations and almost certainly belonging to the notorious Aunt Gwynanna, pierced through the ceremony, unmissable and probably intentionally so.

'A bit primitive, I think. And dirty.'

Joldi blushed and lowered her face. It was hard to deny Aunt Gwynanna's judgement. While they were planning the wedding, Joldi had described the waves of flowers decorating High Rock temples, garlands weaved around every rock and pillar in marvellous outdoor plateaus, the fine silks and perfumes a bride wore, and if not sunshine then at least not six feet of snow. She had done her best to recreate that in Riften's temple, but directing proceedings from Whiterun, some of the instructions had been lost, or not followed. A few sad bunches of wildflowers were sat in dishes. Most of them were lost in the shadows. The few candles on the altar only highlighted the dust and cobwebs.

To avoid seeing Joldi's embarrassment, Trond glanced over his shoulder at their audience, and immediately wished he hadn't. Although Joldi's innumerable relatives disguised the distinct lack of Boar-Chasers, other than Hjolrin squeezed in at the end of a bench, he felt the absence of his family ragged and raw inside his chest. Ma and Pa should have been there, shoulder to shoulder with Joldi's Mama and Papa. Brandrel should have been joking about how he never thought Trond would be the first of the brothers to get married. Minnel should have been challenging Aunt Gwynanna on her insult. And as for Haaki...

The loss of his elder siblings Trond could put aside. That pain had become too familiar a long time ago, no longer held the same sting. It would have been enough for those who were left to be there in their stead. That was all he asked.

Whenever he noticed the empty space he felt the anger rising in his chest. He tried to push it down, to concentrate on what Maramal was saying, but the fury lodged itself in tight between his ribs and refused to budge. Haaki's letter declining the invitation to the wedding had been about five words long, without even an apology. He was busy, he said. With what he hadn't specified. He didn't seem to think it mattered. Why would Haaki -- Haaki, with whom Trond had shared a bedroom for more than fifteen years, whom he risked his life to protect, whose childhood was inextricably linked with his own -- why would Haaki subject himself to enduring Trond's wedding day?

Trond felt Joldi's hand, hot and clammy, grasp his just in time. Maramal cleared his throat as he reached the end of his main speech.

'Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?'

There was a short pause, and Trond realised with a jolt that Joldi looked as exhausted as he felt. The endless cutting commentary from her Breton family had worn her thin, too, and anger turned to sadness with the realisation that both of them, at that second, only wanted the ceremony to finish as soon as possible.

'I do. Now and forever.'

x

Ten years later, Trond sighed happily and opened the oven. A sweet roll, freshly baked, sat inside, formed into the shape of a heart. He rescued it and stretched his feet towards the leftover warmth, the pain easing from them inside the socks Joldi had knitted for him, clumsily, unsure, but with a love deep and abiding and from the heart. He wondered whether she would have sold all of the wares from her basket yet, and whether she would have found the note he left her at the bottom of said basket, a note he would never admit to writing anywhere within earshot of his brothers. Sentimental, they would call it. Sentimental and soft. What did they know? Joldi deserved to know how much she was loved.