A y e ? Three Nord brothers living in and around Whiterun. The eldest is a hunter living in the mountains around Riverwood. Hjolrin keeps himself to himself and appreciates it when others do the same. His brother Trond, however, doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut. He works as a guard in Whiterun and spends his time telling people not to lollygag, lest they see him eating their sweet rolls. And finally, their youngest brother, Haaki. There's something not quite right there.
The Road Goes On [Drabble - a few years in the future]
No matter where the hunter roams,
Under mountain, over hill...
The scent of red mountain flowers, grown in the spring and only now beginning to die off, snagged on the heather, as the footsteps trudging through it disturbed flocks of seeds and dust.
'Uncle Haaki, can you sing one of your songs? Please?’
'Only if Uncle Hjoll joins in.'
A little older, a little greyer, but otherwise much the same, and in Haaki's case looking fuller and healthier than he had done for years, the Boar-Chaser clan forged a path through the meadow grass. They were returning from Falkreath cemetery, having paid their respects to the long gone Boar-Chaser siblings. After saying goodbye to Frithjofr at the crossroads, where he had taken the path towards Solitude, they left the hold via Hjolrin's hunting lodge outside Riverwood, picking up Arlain en route, and now they were heading in the general direction of Whiterun, although their path so far had crossed most of the Plains with no sense of urgency. Whenever Amelie wanted to chase a rabbit, or Branthar spotted a patch of herbs in the shade, or Haaki and Sibjorn's children instigated a game of hide-and-seek, the rest followed without question. Whenever someone strayed too far towards a barrow or giant’s camp, the pack of dogs herded them back into the fold.
Screams and laughter from the children aside, it was peaceful, for a gathering of the Boar-Chasers. The brothers had yet to start up one of their arguments. The cousins were playing well together. Arlain, despite her solemn expression and having only exchanged the iciest of greetings with Haaki when they met at the lodge, had pinned a note reading Drama-Flouncer onto his back and, when Thaena caught her, pressed a finger to her lips, warning the children – and Trond – to keep quiet. Her victim had yet to notice.
'The clover in the grass and the sun in the air-- come on, Trond, even you know the words to this one.'
'Aye, I know the words. The words aren't the problem. It's the tune. You'll laugh at me, I know you.'
'I would never do such a thing! Come on. The clover on the plains and the sun in the air...'
'...and my own pretty lass with the flowers in her hair... You’re laughing.'
‘I’m not, promise. On the road which wanders under mountain, over hill--'
'--and always has and always will,' finished Hjolrin.
The youngest Boar-Chaser, Vinnela, Haaki and Sibby's daughter, was barely toddling, and insisted upon hanging off her mother's hand with each shaky step. It didn't take long for Sibby to grab Haaki's hand as well, and when Haaki caught Einan shortly before he ran face first into a rock, the chain began to grow quickly. Amelie slowed until she was at Einan's pace and reached out for Hjotra, who drew in all her own siblings with help from Arlain and Hjolrin. Trond and Joldi secured the last few stragglers until the clan formed a long line, singing together as they wandered through the clover in the grass and the sun in the air.
☆ put this star into the inbox of your favorite blogs. it's time to spread positivity!
Thank you for sending this! You know how much I love reading about Dal in every iteration, after all this time.
If there is anybody still active following this account then you absolutely deserve a star for still being here, too. <33
Amelie says thank you, too! In a slightly wonky and smudged way because I haven't drawn for so long my fingers have seized up and my eraser has developed an armoured skin.
When he envisioned it, Haaki's escape had involved disappearing into the trees, lying low for a while, and then making his careful way back to Falkreath before sunrise. Now he found himself with mere moments to incorporate Frithjofr into that plan. He darted forwards and gripped Frithjofr's shoulder.
'Trust me.'
'What?'
The door opened. Haaki whipped away from Frithjofr and raised his arms, palms forwards, as Bette and Sjorik emerged. The sight of Haaki apparently surrendering to a trembling, grey-haired man stopped them in their tracks.
'Who's this?' asked Bette. Praying that Frithjofr wouldn't venture to make his own introductions, and that Bette wouldn't take the opportunity to thrust the dagger into his back, Haaki tried to keep himself an equal distance between both parties, arms still up.
'Frithjofr?'
Thankfully, Frithjofr seemed too stunned to interrupt. He was also too stunned to notice Haaki's pointed stare at the sword and to make a better show of this, but Haaki was used to spinning a drama out of limited material. He tried to appear suitably threatened. Bette was not immediately convinced.
'Another victim, then.'
'I wouldn't. He's been hunting me. And doing a better job of it than you.' Haaki risked a glance at her out of the side of his eye. 'You know he killed my sister? And Minnel was a beast with a mace, let me tell you. Just think what he'll do to you.'
'This old fool? We'll see.'
She stepped forwards. Frithjofr flinched backwards. It was odd, though. Much as the Brotherhood had a flair for the dramatic, they wouldn't usually drag out an attack for this long, at least in Haaki's experience. Get in, get it done, and get out, was what he had been taught, with particular stress on not wasting time taunting the mark. He had felt somewhat offended at the time by the insinuation that his style left anything to be desired, but at least his mentor had emphasised the need for efficiency. There was no pleasure in childish games, only in the kill. Slowly, Haaki lowered his hands.
'There are rules, even I know that,' he said. 'Has anyone performed the Black Sacrament for Frithjofr? Have any of the Speakers asked you to kill him?'
'That was the reason you joined! To have your revenge on him, the Speaker said!'
'And I failed, didn't I? So he must be dangerous. Look at his sword.'
'You're laughing at me.'
'Stop me, then. Shut me up.'
Bette turned on her heel to face him, dagger ready, a furious look on her face, and that gave it away entirely. Too much indecision, too much hesitation. Haaki folded his arms, relaxed now.
'Have you even been authorised to kill me, or was this just a test for you?' he asked. Bette advanced further, without actually bringing herself close enough for an attack, and he grinned. 'It is, isn't it? I bet the Speaker sent you out to keep you busy. Let me guess. They said to try and find Boar-Chaser, scare him a bit, keep him in line, but don't spill any blood, keep it tidy, and maybe then you'll be ready for another contract. That's why you were cross with Sjorik about the stag. Am I right?'
At last, she slid the dagger away, breathing deeply to try and regain some composure. Behind her, Sjorik let the summoned magic fall from his hands and began an intense study of a heather clump.
'All right. Yes. That's what they said. But I doubt they'd shed any tears if I did kill you.'
'It'd be much easier, and safer, to go back, tell them I promised to be a good boy and never breathe a word about you, and forget about me. Because I won't say anything, you have my word. I will trust in the Divines to bring you back to the path of righteousness, and when they do I will accept your plea for mercy.'
'Shut up.'
'Stendarr be with you, miss.'
'Hail Sithis.'
And with that, they were gone.
Only once they had slammed the door into the Sanctuary behind them did Haaki turn back to Frithjofr. He was shaking where he stood, still holding the sword in front of him as if the sight of it alone would ward off potential enemies. Gently, Haaki put his hands over Frithjofr's and helped him lower the weapon.
'I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, the stuff about… about Minnel. Not any more. I had to say something to get rid of them.'
'I know.' Frithjofr breathed in deeply, face pale and eerie in the predawn light. Shadows fell in strange places. 'I would've fought 'em, though, to protect you. If I had to.'
'I wouldn't be worth it.'
Without giving him time to comment on that, Haaki pulled him along, eager now to leave the door far behind. It soon slipped into darkness as they trudged through the forest.
Once they were back on a real path, with the torches of Falkreath flickering between the trees, Haaki asked,
'How did you find me?'
'I saw there was blood on the ground 'n I thought, what if it was yours? So I went back and got my sword 'n stuff from the inn, and then I followed it to that cliff thing.' Frithjfor shifted uncomfortably in his armour, which had clearly been buckled in a hurry and weighed him down at the shoulders. Haaki wondered who had fastened it for him, picturing a poor barmaid at the inn being hustled in to help, and bit his lip as Frithjofr continued, 'Then I walked down and found that door, but it started asking me what the blessing of existence was and I guess nothing I said was right, I've never been good at riddles, and anyway I didn't like it, so I thought you must've been nearby and I decided I'd wait for you.'
It showed courage Haaki wouldn't have guessed Frithjofr had. Always a coward, it was hard to picture him picking his way along a trail of blood in the pines, to a door more bloodied than he knew, and even trying to get through it before being forced to admit defeat. He could have run back, or at least clanked back, in the unfamiliar armour. He could have found somewhere safer. He chose to wait.
Haaki kept pace with him for a while. The smell of smoke drifted towards them, the inn stoking up the fires ready for breakfast and another day. Such normal, friendly things. At the gates, Haaki hesitated.
'Do you think I'm just… running away from things?'
'Nothing wrong with running. Always worked for me.'
He looked sideways. Frithjofr was watching a guard patrolling the walls, a distant expression on his face.
'Frithjofr?'
'Aye?'
'When the door asked you what the blessing of existence was, what did you say?'
'Well, first I tried family, 'n friends, 'n chickens, but it didn't like those, so then I tried spoons, 'n not being in prison, 'n some other stuff. What was the right answer s'posed to be?'
The breath caught in Haaki's throat as a curious warmth overwhelmed him, out of nowhere, until his chest hurt and his eyes ached. He nudged Frithjofr's arm.
'I think... I think your answers were right. It must have been broken.'
'Aye, I thought so,' said Frithjofr, contentedly.
A companionable silence fell. Accompanied by the first hush of morning light, they continued their walk into town, back to peace, and to safety, and to red mountain flowers in bloom.
'Not really an option, but you can try it if you want,' she said in the end. 'If you mean you're going to fight us, you can try, and I suppose you might win, but you'll have the entire Brotherhood after you. Is that a risk you want to take?'
'I'm not going to fight you. What if I choose to forgive?'
This time Bette did know how to react. She laughed. The sound echoed through the tunnels.
'Is this a priest thing?' she asked when she recovered. 'The Divines have no place here. The Divines have no place with you. You abandoned them when you swore your soul to Sithis.'
'I disagree.'
'What? You can't just disagree with facts.'
'I disagree,' repeated Haaki. Every nerve he had was fraying, pushing him towards the dagger or the crossbow, to lash out and fight back until he tore the smug grin from Bette's face. He resisted the impulse. Think of Chorrol. Think of orange blossoms behind a stained glass window. Think of long, hot, dusty afternoons. 'Sithis is Nothing, the Is Not, the Void. How can He claim a soul? How arrogant do you have to be to think He cares about us?'
'You are profane, an abomination. As far as your Divines are concerned, you don't exist.'
Think of words twisted up in smoke. Think of the truth behind them. Think of an old Dunmer and finally show him pity.
Haaki patted his hands across his torn clothes.
'I feel like I exist. What else matters? Anyway, even if it turns out my soul is damned to the Void when I die, that means I won't be able to get upset about it, doesn't it? I won't be able to feel much of anything, what with all the nothing I'll become.'
'You're wrong.'
'Maybe. I don't care.' Think of Whiterun. Think of Hjolrin and Trond. Think of Sibby. Think of home. 'My soul belongs to me. I choose what happens to it.'
Bette drew her dagger.
'You know, you could have said you were choosing to run and saved us some time.'
Haaki left his weapons where they were.
'You can wait for me to return to Sithis and embrace the Void. I'll wait for you to return to the Divines and accept their mercy. We'll see who breaks first.'
'Sjorik!'
A well-aimed kick as she charged up the stairs bought Haaki a few seconds while she stumbled. After that, footsteps were rattling along the stone behind him, and if the noise was anything to go by Sjorik must have found some bodies to raise in the ruins of the Sanctuary. Two people couldn't make that much noise. Fortunately, a few seconds were all Haaki needed to turn and launch himself up the steps, towards the exit, and heave against it until he could smell the pine trees beyond.
The door scraped a channel into the dirt as it swung open. On the other side, in scuffed and battered armour, holding a jagged sword in front of him as if he were afraid of it, stood Frithjofr.
Haaki wasn't sure what he would find in the Sanctuary. Although he had not exactly kept up a steady correspondence with the Dark Brotherhood after shunning the order and fleeing any attempt to recall him, he was vaguely aware, through Trond's grossly exaggerated rumours and the occasional hint from Chira, before losing touch with her entirely, that some kind of incident had befallen the Falkreath sect. Combined with the lack of Silencers after him, he had hoped that might mean the end of his involvement with them.
Certainly something had happened here. The scorched walls left soot on his clothes as he stumbled down the steps, leaning against the side for support. Rubble filled a lot of the passageways. Interestingly, though, the stones and dust had been swept to one side on the main path, leaving a clear way through. Hopefully that had been done some time ago and the place would be empty today.
A drop of blood, his blood, soaked into the dirt as the wound in his arm spilled over.
'I told you to lead him here, not maim him.'
'He needed persuading--'
'Fetch some bandages.'
Haaki stopped, wincing as the jolt flashed pain into his ribs. Maybe the stag had been the better option. Regardless, he was committed now. The dagger weighed reassuringly at his side.
A Nord rounded the corner at the bottom of the steps, appearing out of the gloom and burnt, mangled masonry like a spectre. She wore dark armour, imprinted with the black hand, a nightmare walking. She also held bandages.
'Take these,' said the nightmare. 'Get you cleaned up.'
Haaki remained where he was. She sighed and climbed the steps. Haaki retreated upwards, away from her, and tripped over a fallen chunk of stone. Before he could scramble up the Nord had her arm around his and was hauling him to his feet, pushing the bandages into his hands. A small vial followed them. Seeing the look he gave it, and how close he was to flinging it on the floor, she sighed.
'It's not poison. That bite is probably infected, this is just something to clean it up.'
Slowly, deliberately, Haaki let the vial slip between his fingers. It didn't smash, which would have been far more satisfying, but it did bounce down the steps and roll into the darkness. The Nord folded her arms and leaned against the wall.
'Suit yourself. They told me you would be sulky.'
Finally Haaki broke his silence.
'Sulky? Pardon?'
'You heard me.' She grinned. 'I'm Bette, by the way. Will you at least put on the bandages?'
Haaki dropped those too, rolled up his sleeve, and concentrated. At least one good thing had come out of his regrettable time in Windhelm. His healing magic was weak and hesitant, made worse by the rising panic in his chest, and if the wound was infected it wouldn't help with that but it did the job, sealing over the bite wound -- however imperfectly -- and leaving only the smears of blood and a ragged scar behind. The pain began to fade, and with it his nerves. If the Brotherhood wanted him dead, his corpse would already be going cold by this point, so he was probably safe for the time being.
He met Bette's eyes. Had they passed in the street, he would have thought them friendly, comforting, a cheerful blue. It was easy to see why someone would trust eyes like that, right up until she slid the knife in.
'I thought you were gone from Falkreath,' he said. Bette shrugged.
'We're never gone for long.'
'What about the stag? Was that you?'
'That was Sjorik, one of our new recruits. A little unorthodox, but he gets the job done, and having a mark wandering around after he's supposed to have been killed confuses the guards wonderfully. The Speakers thought you in particular would appreciate his flair for the dramatic.' Before Haaki could question this, she went on, 'We wanted to bring you here. We hoped the rumours of necromancy in Bleak Hills Barrow might attract the attention of a good little Priest of Stendarr, and when that failed we decided to try more... direct methods of drawing you to us.'
'Why?'
'To test your devotion. To let you know that Sithis never forgets his children.'
Years of fear and panic and nights lying awake in a cold sweat seemed to hit Haaki at full force in a single moment. His legs quaked beneath him, and only his determination not to show any weakness in front of Bette kept him standing.
'I could kill you,' he managed. His voice sounded thin and dry. Bette was unperturbed.
'You could. Not very... merciful of you, though. For a priest.'
'How do you know about that?'
'Oh, we know. We know everything, Haaki Boar-Chaser.'
The sound of his full name, slipping out from between smug, curled lips, made Haaki shudder, not at the realisation of how few secrets he could keep from the Brotherhood, but at the thought of someone else who addressed him that way, in Windhelm, not very long and yet a lifetime ago. Maybe Bette knew about that as well. Her smile twisted further.
'Your oath of devotion to Sithis cannot simply be forgotten,' she said. 'You might put it aside, try to hide it, lie to others and to yourself, but it will always be there. You cannot escape Him when you are already His.'
Haaki wanted to ask, how do you know? How can you tell? Can you see my soul? Do you know where it is?
Stubborn pride overruled the questions. His whole body fixed itself in a rigor. Stiff. Unbending. A shield between his self and the world.
'Why don't you just kill me? I thought anyone who left the Brotherhood--'
'You haven't given away our secrets. See? You say you've left us, and yet you never told your brother, the guard, where we were. You still know the catechisms. You still carry an assassin's dagger.'
Suddenly the weight of the dagger felt much heavier. Haaki put a hand over it, fingers at the hilt.
'This isn't from you.'
'It belonged to one of us, aye? Someone you still think fondly of. Why else would you carry it with you? That's why we don't just kill you. We're assassins, Haaki, not murderers. For now, we have faith that our brother will return to us, one day, when he remembers his loyalties. After all, were we really so bad? We gave you a family, a home, and the justice you were desperate for.'
'That wasn't justice. It was vengeance.'
'Very profound, and I'd love to discuss the finer ethical points of our work with you, but as you can see--' she swept an arm around at the debris '--Sjorik and I already have a lot of cleaning to do, so I'd like to wrap this up. Are you going to embrace your fate and devote yourself once again to our Dread Father? Or will you continue to run?'
They weren't Frithjofr's footprints. Frithjofr always wore the soft blue boots from Cyrodiil, pointed at the toe, whereas these were blunt at the end and square in the heel. Quite a clear outline. Leather, finely cobbled, belonging to someone who spared no expense when it came to style. Haaki didn't know much about the mages from the College, but he assumed that ruled them out. People who, as he understood it, spent all day in a library, studying tediously old texts, probably had no need for sturdy yet fashionable walking boots.
Cold air huffed over him as the stag strode past. Haaki froze. It didn't turn off from the path. Its master must have lost sight of him when he dived into the bushes and was hoping to flush him out, like beating a rabbit from its warren. He gritted his teeth, secured his crossbow to his belt, and crawled forwards slowly on his stomach, going still whenever he came too close to the stump of bone and the smell of rotten meat.
The tracks continued through a narrow passage in the ferns, which suggested someone who knew how to keep themselves hidden, and was reasonably skilled at it, too, had it not been a seasoned hunter on their trail. That ruled out some of the freelance and mercenary mages Haaki occasionally encountered on the road, most of whom considered it a badge of honour to attract the attention of everyone in a five mile radius with their flashy spells. Who did that leave? Not another hunter. Between them, Haaki and Hjolrin knew nearly all of the hunters between Riverwood and Falkreath, and in any case, no self-respecting hunter would make a mockery of Kyne with the shambling, dragging beast.
Another roar from the stag, and as the sound churned around the forest Haaki realised he had been caught between two shelters, the safety of the bushes and the narrow path the footsteps followed. Faced with retreat or darting forwards, he sprinted for the ferns.
It was the wrong decision.
Seconds before he made the cool, shady safety of the ferns, Haaki saw it. A whisper of a shadow, the hem of some robes disappearing behind a tree, the very edge of the boots he had been following. It distracted him. For a second, a vital second, he forgot the danger behind him in favour of the quarry ahead, and a second was enough. As he ran forwards, teeth locked onto his arm and wrenched him backwards, growing tighter with every attempt to struggle free. Blood began to well up around the bone.
A deer's jaws were not designed for attack, but that didn't stop the pain, nor lessen the strength of the hold it had on him. Haaki was dimly aware of Hjolrin's voice somewhere inside his head telling him to be careful. Funny. It hadn't meant anything at the time. Mortality never did feel real, until, suddenly, all at once, it became very real indeed.
He swore, for want of anything more constructive to do, and fumbled with his free hand for the dagger Chira had given him. About as useful as a crossbow bolt in the situation, but it was something. Haaki lifted it more for reassurance than any expectation that it might help. The angle of the beast's grip on him meant he couldn't aim it towards the heart, and he doubted it would achieve much if he did, but he was able to swing it around against the stag's muzzle.
It helped, in a way. Most of the skin and muscle was already gone, which gave him a clear shot where the bone connected. The dagger smashed against the hinge of the lower jaw hard enough to dislodge it from the skull. It wasn't much, but it gave Haaki enough leeway to pull himself free.
So far so good, but he was still bleeding, and although the beast's jaw swung sickeningly around, it still had antlers, which it now lowered, ready for another charge. Haaki barely had time for a prayer to Kyne, to Stendarr, to anyone who was listening, if his soul hadn't been lost entirely to the Void, for some kind of sanctuary and safety, before he launched himself in the direction of the boots.
The chase was short, but it felt like hours. One arm flapping uselessly at his side, the other holding the bloodied dagger, Haaki leapt over brambles and dodged from side to side, trying to keep the stag from a clear charge without losing sight of the trail. Occasionally he thought he saw the flicker of the robes again. Never for very long. Prayers alternated with curses. Finally, when the blood was streaking down his wrist, when his breath was spent, when the deer readied itself for a final charge, everything somehow got worse.
The ground disappeared beneath him. The drop was quick, at least. Haaki thudded over the edge of a small cliff, onto the dirt, and winced at the crack from somewhere inside his chest. No time to worry about it, though. He reached up a hand for support as he forced himself to his feet. His palm fell against stone, carved stone, cut into the shape of bones. His blood dripped onto the cold surface and silence filled his head.
Not silence. Not completely. There was a voice, the one which haunted the darkest corners of Haaki's nights. It whispered,
'What is the blessing of existence?'
The gods had answered his prayers, with their usual twisted sense of humour. Haaki had found a sanctuary. It wasn't the one he had been looking for. With the stag not far behind, however, he realised he had no choice. He swallowed and let the old catechism come to him, all too easily.
Haaki needn't have shouted. Frithjofr was already at the edge of the graveyard. After hearing the stag's tortured groan echoing around the forest, he didn't need reminding that getting out of there as fast as possible might be a wise course of action. In his fear, however, he was making for the closest exit, which happened to be straight into the forest itself.
'No! Not that way, you stupid-- Go to the inn, get inside!'
Too late. He was gone. Haaki muttered a few choice words before loping after him, reaching for his crossbow.
Once between the trees he paused and tried to collect his thoughts. No point in panicking like Frithjofr. Haaki prided himself on being better than his brother-in-law, even if the thumping in his chest suggested otherwise. He forced himself to stop, and breathe, and wait.
Soon he began to get a sense of the forest around him, another skill imparted by Hjolrin many years ago. Falkreath Hold was subtly different to Riverwood. Instead of sharp and clear air, everything was muffled by moss, distant among the ferns, always sounding further away than it ought to. It was how Haaki imagined the dead viewed the living, another thought which he pushed down and ignored. More important things to focus on. He listened until he heard a scuffle and a crunch and then, crossbow cradled in his arms, he followed it, keeping tight to the thicket of weeds.
For a long time he thought he must have lost the trail, and had it not been for the idea of Frithjofr only a few steps away, about to run into a ring of belligerent necromancers, he probably would have turned back. The daylight was fading and every shadow of every tree stretched out around him, arms ready to snatch, claws ready to tear apart. There was no sign of Frithjofr. Maybe he had circled round. Maybe what they had heard was a perfectly normal animal, wandering through the forest, doing no harm to anyone. Maybe he was being ridiculous. Maybe.
Haaki crept out from a curtain of ferns and came face to face with the stag.
He assumed it was the same stag, anyway. Wolves appeared to have found it since the encounter in Riverwood, and the pack didn't perceive necromancy as a reason to abandon a hunt. Flesh, torn by multiple mouths, hung in lumps from the creature's bones, clinging on by threads of muscle, and the bones themselves were chipped and smeared with the remaining fluids in the corpse. The legs, too, were in tatters, not from wolves but from the brambles slicing at them. One foot had broken away and the stag was walking, unperturbed, on a stump of bone, giving it a horrible, lopsided stagger. It reminded Haaki of the first time he'd seen a stag shed its velvet, but this was unnatural, as if the process were an infection which had spread to the rest of the body, and unlike that time he didn't have Hjolrin here to explain what was going on.
The worst part was the jaw. Haaki had never thought about a stag's teeth much before. He'd seen deer skulls, on the walls of inns, or as decor in an especially tasteless home, and they hadn't been threatening then, other than to anyone with a sense for interior design. Now he felt differently. The skin of the muzzle had been ripped away and revealed, at the back of the jaw, behind the lower set of incisors, a toothy grin curling up into the skull, a grin which persisted as the creature moaned. Some of the teeth were loose. It looked strangely human, until it lowered its head, directed its antlers at Haaki, and charged.
Holding up the crossbow was instinctive, but of course firing it would be pointless. If a pack of wolves couldn't take the thing down then another bolt wouldn't do much. Haaki flung himself to the side as the beast crashed into the thicket. The magical aura trailed behind it. Trying to keep himself protected by the branches, he moved around the clearing, keeping half of his attention on the stag and half for whoever was controlling it.
'Who's there? Come out here and fight properly!'
Teeth chattered behind him as the stag lunged forwards again, mouth first this time, snapping at Haaki's sleeves. It couldn't do much damage compared to the antlers or a straightforward charge, but it could hold him in place. It gave Haaki the distinct and unpleasant sensation that someone, somewhere nearby, was laughing at him. As his foot caught a root and sent him tumbling forwards, he failed to see the joke.
A brief image, of smiling teeth against a starlit sky, bore down upon him, and he rolled away as the antlers plunged into the earth beside him. Before he could be trampled by the hooves, he swung his crossbow up and caught the monster a blow on its chest which bought him enough time to scramble towards safety.
Gripping his crossbow with one hand, flailing for support with the other, he staggered to his feet, and as he lurched forwards he saw them. A trail of footprints. They were shallow, difficult to spot, but that only proved they must be recent. Falkreath's constant veil of rain meant feet usually sank several inches into the mud, whereas if Haaki hadn't stumbled right into these he would never have seen them. His hand tightened on the crossbow. An undead stag spurred to violence by its puppeteer was not something his past experience covered. Footprints, though, he could handle. That was something he could track.
Although there was no further sign of the stag itself, its tracks through the bracken were easy to follow. Whoever was puppeteering the stag's body, they had opted to send it crashing through the undergrowth in a straight line rather than follow a more natural path. The morning mist burned away as Haaki clambered downwards, over the slopes of bracken, across broad granite outcrops icy to the touch, onto the path into Falkreath. By the time the dirt became cobbles underfoot, the sun was shining and the air was thick with the scent of heather and mountain flowers, with just a little zest from the ice blown off the Jerall Mountains. A bee droned somewhere nearby. Life seemed to be asleep in the town of Falkreath itself, with only the occasional guard yawning through a patrol. There were certainly no necromancers running wild and wreaking havoc. It felt sleepy, lazy.
Haaki hated it. He always hated it. Whether on a sunny day or, as was more common in Falkreath, a dreary, drizzly day, when the place smelled of damp earth and mould rather than flowers, it didn't matter. Falkreath's rich flora felt cloying to him, even as he stooped to pick the traditional handful of flowers, and the people felt hollow, the streets dead, because of course they all circled around one place, the only reason -- in Haaki's experience -- that anybody ever came here. The reason he had come here today, really. The necromancers didn't appear to be around, but Haaki continued forwards anyway, growing slower and slower with every step. On the edge of town he paused and ate a few of the supplies in his pack for lunch, unable to taste them through the nerves. There was only so much time he could waste, however. Eventually, inevitably, he walked on.
The smaller gravestones rose up around his boots as he trudged towards the cemetery. Most were untended, sunken into weeds. One or two were new. Haaki paused to read the names on them, which he knew he would not recognise, but soon he was on the familiar trail, looking down at red flowers appearing between the mosses and the nightshade. He only raised his head at the final moment, and to his surprise discovered that he was not alone.
Frithjofr sat on his knees in front of the stone. Some flowers, red ones, wilting beside their planted counterparts after a journey of some hours from Solitude, trailed across his fingers. He looked older, much older, than Haaki remembered him from only a few weeks ago, although his face was calm as he bent it towards Minnel's grave. Lost in thought, he didn't notice Haaki arrive behind him, and seemed to be having a conversation with the stone.
'...'s not my fault, really, 'cause I did ask if I could borrow it. Thought he said yes, but it turned out he was talking to someone else, which is how it started. Anyway, I mended it now. You'd of liked it. I did the stitches really neat, same as you taught me.'
He laid the flowers in front of the stone, the same ritual Haaki followed every time he visited. He stuffed his own handful of flowers hastily inside a pocket, expecting Frithjofr to turn around, but he remained facing the stone, silent now, until Haaki finally announced his own presence.
'Um. Afternoon.'
True to form, Frithjofr flinched and leapt up, before realising who was speaking. He grinned sheepishly.
'Uh, 'lo there, Haaki. Didn't hear you walk up. You here to visit Minnel too?'
'Sort of.'
'I like telling her about stuff. I know she isn't really here, 's just a stone, but it still feels... right, y'know?' He sat back down again, on the damp grass this time, and motioned for Haaki to do the same. 'Reckon we got some time before the carriage leaves.'
After only a short hesitation, Haaki took the proffered rock.
'Trond does it, too. Tells Minnel and Brandy and Ma and Pa about things. He writes them a letter every New Life. I saw one, once, when they invited us to their house for the festival and he hadn't hidden it properly.'
He braced himself, ready for Frithjofr to question why he had been digging through Trond's personal paperwork, and equally ready to defend himself against such accusations from a man who, Haaki knew for a fact, once got himself thrown out of Whiterun market after being caught pocketing apples from a stall and insisting he was only checking them for worms. Perhaps also in mind of this incident, Frithjofr did not challenge Haaki. Instead, he said,
'It helps, makes the goodbye hurt less.
'Makes it go on for longer, you mean.'
'You never tried talking to them?'
Haaki said nothing. Nor did Frithjofr, for a while. It didn't feel as awkward as it used to. In fact Haaki found himself thinking of the walks beside White River, when Minnel would send the pair of them off with a picnic while she tended to something on the farm. They must have spent hours in gentle, companionable silence, lying on the old handwoven blanket, Frithjofr on guard for mudcrab attacks, Haaki watching the clouds dance through different shapes overhead. Back then, an afternoon could last forever and no time at all, content with each other's company.
He pushed the memory away, locked it up for later, as Frithjofr began talking again. It was as if he hadn't asked his earlier question at all.
'The people we love don't go very far when they die. We hold 'm tight, keep 'm close.'
'Even when all you've got left is an empty grave in some hold they never even visited,' said Haaki. Frithjofr only nodded.
'Aye, even then. Especially then. When people're gone, it's the little things we do which keep a space for 'em in the world. Like bringing flowers.'
He pointed at Haaki's bag, where the head of a mountain flower poked out between the leather. Reluctantly, Haaki fished them out and laid them on the grave, mumbling as he did so,
'It's just… it's just a habit. A stupid little ritual.'
'She'd of liked it.'
She would have done, too. Haaki could see her now. She was waiting for them when they finished their picnic at the door of the farmhouse, ready with a kiss for Frithjofr and a hug for Haaki, who could still feel her hands, warm and grubby from her work, taking the mountain flowers he always collected for her. Sometimes she would laugh at him and call him a soft little milk-drinker. Sometimes she would thank him. Whichever it was, the flowers always ended up in the old clay pot they used as a vase, on the table in her room, pride of place, beside the window.
The afternoon drifted away, the same as it always used to. The shadows of the pine trees grew longer. And then, as Frithjofr mumbled something about the carriage and made to stand up, Haaki heard it. A rustling in the grass. A branch cracking. The groan of a stag.
Haaki raised his crossbow, reached for a bolt, and stopped, the fletching brushing against his fingertips. He couldn't see Hjolrin turn to look at him, not without taking his eyes off the creature in the glade, but he felt it, the disapproval burning against the side of his face. He held up a palm. Years ago, in their childhood, Hjolrin taught him all the gestures of the secret language of the hunters. This one meant wait.
After a few seconds he felt Hjolrin relax, as he noticed the same detail as Haaki. Up until now there had been nothing unusual about the hunt. Beginning in Hjolrin's Riverwood camp, just like old times, they had let the dogs pick up the trail, then followed the tracks of a stag west through the forest, crawling along the trails of broken bracken and disturbed mud almost as far as Falkreath Hold, until they came upon a clearing in the pines. The stag stood proud in the late morning mist, but now that they saw it in the flesh, it became obvious that the mist wasn't the only haze in the air. An aura surrounded the stag and swirled in the space around, alive with--
'Magic,' muttered Haaki. He felt Hjolrin tense beside him with yet more annoyance, ready to chide him for scaring off their quarry, but the stag didn't bound off into the undergrowth. It didn't even seem to notice them. The beast stood completely still, not grazing the grass, not turning to look for danger, not even, now that Haaki really looked closely, breathing. It also completely failed to react as Splendid, who had been crouched beside Dog, decided that all this waiting around was getting boring and trotted out into the clearing to sniff the beast's legs.
A moment later, as if to confirm Haaki's suspicions, Hjolrin nudged him and pointed at the stag's chest. A wound, not from either of their arrows, scarred the hide, submerged in congealed blood. It should have been fatal. It had been fatal. Haaki lowered his bow.
'Necromancy.'
Hjolrin frowned at him again and, after raising his hand, balled it into a fist, which meant silence. He had a point. Whoever had decided to reanimate the stag must be nearby. Only when the creature abruptly stalked off in a straight line and disappeared from sight did Hjolrin relax.
'Been some necromancers around. Thought they got'mselves killed messing about in Bleak Hills.'
'Apparently not.' Haaki sighed and fastened the crossbow back onto his belt. 'Well, great. All this way for nothing. Do you think they might be heading to the cemetery?'
'Could be.'
'I bet they are.' He stood up, brushing the moss out of his hair. 'I'm going to stop them.'
'Take another hour to get there.'
A sharp whistle brought Splendid to heel, where she sat expectantly, apparently expecting a reward for her flagrant disobedience. When no treats were forthcoming from her master she tried Hjolrin instead. Haaki hitched his hunting gear more firmly into place.
'I didn't have anything else planned for today.'
'Said y'had to write a sermon.'
Haaki gave this reminder the blank stare he felt it deserved before asking,
'Can you look after the dogs for me? It's a long way to go for Dog, his legs aren't what they used to be.'
A quick kiss exchanged on the doorstep, a squeeze of the hand, and Joldi was gone.
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.
All things considered, Trond and Joldi's wedding day had not been the happiest day of their lives. That honour had fallen to every day since, each one happier than the last, and - Trond reasoned to himself, as he took his first bite of the sweet roll - he would not have wanted it any other way.
