#trond

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.'