#minnel

'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.’

The hem of the cloak was pushed back and a sullen, suspicious face, covered in a thin beard, looked out. When it saw the dog bouncing around Frithjofr's heels, it broke into a smile.

'Uncle Frith!'

''Lo. Minnel sent me up to look for you. Everything all right?'

'Just practising my carving. I'm not as good as Hjolrin.' Haaki held up the lump of wood he was working on in rough, hardened fingers, complete with a fresh scar across the knuckle. 'Um, it's supposed to be a fox.'

'Better'n anything I could do.'

'Sit down. I've got some potatoes I can cook.'

Giving Dog one last scratch behind the ears, Frithjofr settled himself on his knees beside the fire, scuffing up his leggins with soot. Haaki scraped some of the embers from the fire with his boot and dropped a couple of potatoes on them before sitting down himself. As soon as he was down Dog trotted over and rested his head in his master's lap. Haaki fondled his ears idly and asked,

'Why did Minnel send you? I'm fine. I'm not a kid any more.'

'You'll always be a kid to her.'

'Nobody ever goes looking for Hjoll, and she and Brandy're older than him, too. It's not fair.'

Haaki prodded the potatoes with a stick, and jabbed at one so hard that the skin burst. He swore under his breath, glanced guiltily around, and when Frithjofr didn't comment, did his best to poke the inside of the potato back inside. There was clearly something else on Frithjofr's mind. After picking up a stick of his own and twirling it between his fingers a few times, he said,

'Uh, 's not just about checking up on you.'

Haaki's hand stopped stroking Dog's head.

'It's about the Legion. Isn't it?'

'Uh. Aye. She wanted me to try 'n talk to you--'

'I know she did. You won’t change my mind.'

Unbidden, both of their heads turned, just for a second, to look at the cloak tent. There was an old, faded stain at one end, over where the chest would be if someone was wearing it. Haaki looked back to the fire first.

'She's worried,' said Frithjofr. Haaki concentrated all of his attention on the disembowelled potato.

'It wouldn't happen to me.'

'Could happen to anyone.'

'The war's practically over now.'

'It was practically over when--'

'You're not going to stop me. Minnel's tried and Brandy's tried and Hjolrin's tried and now you've tried, but I'm going to go anyway. It's... it's a point of honour, isn't it? You said you wanted to be in the Legion once.'

'Nah, said I respected the Legion. 'S different. I can't tell the pointy end of a sword from the other one. What good'd I be?'

'I'm trained. I'm good with a bow and better with a crossbow.'

There was a long silence, filled with Dog's sniffing and a log shifting in the fire. It wasn't until Haaki removed the potatoes and handed over the one still intact that Frithjofr said,

''M not gonna stop you. I just want to know you know what you're leaving behind. Somebody'll have to look after Dog--'

'Hjolrin will.'

'--and Finnr'll miss you. So will everyone. They've already lost one brother, one uncle. I mean, 'm not a Boar-Chaser, not properly, but I know how important you are to each other. That's obvious even to me. Minnel still keeps his shield on the wall. Hjolrin never talks to anyone since... y'know. And Brandy's always telling me he's going to sell his books, but he never does, and y'know why? Because you hold onto each other. They don't want to lose him for good and they don't want to lose you.' Frithjofr bit into the potato and mumbled around it, 'That's all I got to say.'

---------------------------------------------------

Frithjofr and Minnel deciding to leave for Cyrodiil is a pivotal point for every Boar-Chaser, so it seemed appropriate (and efficient) to use it for this prompt.

The first and most obvious result is that neither Minnel nor Finnr are killed by legionnaires, and Frithjofr doesn’t get into his various troubles. Instead he continues to help out on the Boar-Chaser farm, eventually moving into a small house of their own a little further west on the Whiterun Plains. There’s no Burd, and no nirngoats; they live a fairly humdrum and unremarkable life, raising Finnr amongst his family.

This leads to Frithjofr becoming a much calmer man. He has better control over his thoughts, and is less prone to amble into danger, but he’s also less sympathetic to people in difficult situations. His morals haven’t been challenged in the way they were during his Cyrodiil adventures. He continues to believe that Stealing Is Always Bad, never having experienced the desperation some people are forced to and with the constant presence of Trond (initially - we’ll get to that). Generally speaking, he’s not quite as sympathetic to people on the fringes of society, be they common thieves or followers of Sheogorath. He never meets a considerably number of his current friends, and if he does, the consequences may be quite, quite different - Tortulja and Luth, for example, wouldn’t find him so sympathetic, nor as endearingly stupid, and his close friendships with them would never have the chance to grow.

His cowardice is less likely to change, although the Boar-Chasers are quite insistent about what it means to be a Real Nord. Most of the time, if they will allow it, Frithjofr remains content to stay at home with Finnr while Minnel takes care of anything remotely courageous.

Having someone like Frithjofr around to compare himself to boosts Trond’s confidence further (as if it needs it). Knowing that his sister will still be around to help the family, and without the resentment the circumstances of her death fostered, Trond tries for the Legion again and this time, with the Civil War creating a constant demand for new troops, gets accepted. Unfortunately, unlike guard work, there’s no option of ducking into the nearest alley away from danger when things get rough. He’s struck down by a Stormcloak shortly after joining. His personal effects are sent home and divided among the remaining Boar-Chasers -- his shield goes to Minnel, his books go to Brandrel, his sword goes to Hjolrin and his cloak goes to Haaki.

With Minnel’s help, Brandrel survives his fight against the bear. The Boar-Chaser farm becomes his responsibility when Minnel moves out with Frithjofr, and he does a much better job at caring for it than Hjolrin, Trond and Haaki do in the real timeline. As much as Trond’s death upsets him, he tries to channel all of that emotion into his work, leaving no time to pursue his amorous interests in Rodda Cold-Tree (or anyone else, for that matter) but creating a thriving farmstead.

On the more definitively negative side, Hjolrin retreats into himself, as he does in the real timeline, but even more severely. Neither Minnel nor Brandrel are as skilled at bringing him out of himself as Trond was. Without Trond there running his mouth to fill any awkward silences, Hjolrin is even less likely to attend any social events, and he’s rarely obliged to since Minnel is still the official head of the clan. He’s never introduced to Arlain, and spends the majority of his time alone in his camp, isolating himself even from his family. Haaki is the only person who ever really talks to him, and in this world Haaki is usually busy pursuing his own independent hunting work.

Because without the same purpose Minnel’s death gave him, and not having been as close to Trond, it takes a while for Haaki’s innate passion for Vengeance!™ to manifest itself. He evidently maintains his stubbornness (and his personal belief that the world is unfairly biased against him), and his dedication to his family is just as strong, too; the difference is that this time he has more support, and from his favourite people, in dealing with the loss. He completes his apprenticeship with Hjolrin and, at his brother’s insistence on being left alone, sets up his own camp in the woods. He can be hostile to unexpected guests in case they turn out to be part of a Stormcloak scouting party, who will not find any sympathy from him.

Eventually, however, his nature gets the better of him, and his anger over losing a brother festers. This time, rather than run off to the Stormcloaks, he aims for the Legion, instead. He proves luckier than Trond. His ultimate fate would depend on the canonised outcome of the Civil War, but he is moved from infantry to archery, where he serves with honour until the war’s conclusion - not having the ulterior motive of hunting down Frithjofr means he never has any reason to desert. The psychological scars warfare leaves on him are nothing compared to his current path - in the end, it makes him a more disciplined, reasonable person, who better understands the fortunes of war and why Trond was taken from him.

‘Knock it off, Haaki.’

'Why does she need him?’ he persisted, ducking the smack Brandrel aimed at his head. 'What’s wrong with us?’

'You’ll understand when you’re older.’

That was another thing about being eleven and a bit. Everything was going to happen when he was older. He would understand, when he was older. He could go out hunting with Hjolrin, when he was older. He could have a dog, when he was older. Haaki stopped, causing Hjolrin almost to trip over him and Trond to crash into Hjolrin.

'I am older! I’m eleven. And a bit!’

'Aye, sure. If you say so.’

There was no argument to this, so Haaki launched himself at Brandrel’s knees instead. His brother turned round at the last second, grabbed him around the middle and lifted him into the air, grinning. Brandrel did have a beard, a thick one crammed into a knot halfway down, and so his grin had to be wide to show through it.

'Beg for mercy.’

'No!’

'Beg or I won’t put you down.’

'Never!’

'Suit yourself.’ Brandrel hefted Haaki over his shoulder, as if he were one of the calves being carried out of the field, and ignored the rain of punches against one shoulder and kicks against the other. 'Guess you’ll have to meet him like this. Being carried, like a child.’

From his position aloft, watching the grass bobbing along under Brandrel’s feet and Trond laughing at him from behind, Haaki considered his options.

'Mercy,’ he mumbled. Brandrel swung him down to earth.

'That’s better. Just in time, too, I think I can see them.’

The four brothers were heading into the forest over the plains, overlooking the White River. It was a warm day, for Skyrim, which meant they could only just see their breath misting in the air and that there was dew rather than ice on the grass, and Minnel had declared it the perfect day for a picnic. Not just any picnic, either. She had announced at the dinner table last night that she had met a young man, a nice young man, who had got himself into trouble with a wolf pack, and smiled as she said it. A very nice young man, she said. Her cheeks went red. Haaki had watched his brothers exchange glances and tried to join in with them, although he was secretly glad when Trond took it upon himself to explain the details once they were alone in their bedroom.

A Very Nice Young Man hanging around with their sister had to be properly judged. It was, according to Trond, The Rules. If a Very Nice Young Man liked Minnel, he had to like her brothers, too, and they had to like him back. That was why they would have to meet him and inspect him as soon as possible. The picnic was Minnel’s idea for an introduction; she demanded they let her meet this young man up there before they arrived, giving her time to make him look presentable which, she promised, would be no easy feat.

Their first impressions, formed from a distance on the mountain path, were of a tall but thin Nord, fidgeting and scuffing stones around. As they got closer, his shadow against the sky gained colour, pale brown hair, hazel eyes. Worn, patched up clothes. There were tears in his tunic. Trond pointed at them before the man noticed the group bearing down on him.

'That’s from the wolves,’ he whispered to Haaki. 'They almost ate him. Minnel had to pull him out of their slavering jaws.’

'What’s slavering mean?’

'Shh. They’ve seen us.’

Minnel waved and they sped up, ending in a circle around the man. As Haaki stared at him he pulled at his tunic and smiled. Haaki did not smile back.

'This is Frithjofr,’ said Minnel. The man raised an arm.

'Well met.’

'Frithjofr, this is Brandrel and Hjolrin and Trond and Haaki.’

She pointed at each of her brothers in turn and Frithjofr’s eyes tried to keep up, already looking slightly panicked. He was met by four stony stares. Brandrel was the first to move forwards, marching around Frithjofr with his arms folded, performing an exaggerated inspection while his brothers waited to follow his lead.

'So you’re the milk-drinker who wants our sister?’

'Uh.’

He finished his circle and faced Frithjofr head to head again. Brandrel matched him in height, but unlike Frithjofr, he had the muscles to match, which did not make for the most favourable of comparisons. Minnel glared at him from behind Frithjofr’s shoulder until her brother’s grin reappeared.

'Well, he seems all right to me.’

'I agree,’ grunted Hjolrin. Trond nodded.

'Sure.’

'Mm hm,’ said Haaki, and fell back into a scowl when nobody noticed his addition. They were too busy crowding around Frithjofr, giving him a proper welcome, telling him all about the farm and Whiterun and Ma and Pa, leaving no space for their smallest sibling. Even Minnel hadn’t said hello to him properly. He dropped onto a rock to watch them and, when this failed to attract attention, sulk at a patch of daisies.

It wasn’t until a mutual decision was made to set up the picnic that anyone remembered him. The rest of the Boar-Chasers argued over where to put the blanket and who was supposed to have brought the cheese. Frithjofr, edging away from them, knelt down on the daisies and watched them quietly. When it became evident that Haaki was not going to bite him, yet, he said,

'Well met, uh… Haaki?’

'Aye.’

’S good t'meet you 'n your brothers. Minnel’s already told me a lot about you.’

'Mm.’

'Hope y'don’t mind, uh, y'know. Me.’

'Why do you care?’

He flinched at the demand, but seemed to give it serious thought, plucking at the grass around his knees.

’S important to me,’ he said eventually. 'You’re Minnel’s family, and family’s important.’

'Brandy already said he likes you.’

'But what about you? You’re as important as him.’

Finally, Haaki looked at Frithjofr, this stranger, properly, with his grass-stained knees and his darned clothes. He was watching Haaki with wide and earnest eyes. Remembering Brandrel’s advice, Haaki looked at the man’s jaw; it was patched with stubble, nothing like a beard, and every now and then Frithjofr rubbed it self-consciously.

Haaki smiled.

'Aye... I like you.’

Frithjofr smiled, too.

’M glad. So… can you help me remember which of your brothers is which? ’M still confused.’

'Brandy’s the one with the knot in his beard, and Hjolrin is the really quiet one and Trond is the really loud one, he’s the worst, he told me my legs would fall off–’

'Really? ‘S not very nice.’

'No, it’s not! And he said there was an invisible troll in our room, and he told on me to Ma for taking a sweet roll, and this one time…’

Minnel: Mushaboom -- Feist

Brandrel: Song of Mor’du -- Brave