((This is vaguely related to the two prompts I have left to do. Nothing actually happens, because only I could waffle about nothing for this long, but think of it as a promise that I haven't forgotten what I'm supposed to be doing.))
There wasn't much left of the house these days. What used to be the upper level bedrooms, where all five Boar-Chaser children were born and bred, had fallen in completely, and the storage sheds at the back were covered in moss. The barrels still left in them were overgrown with mould from crops long forgotten. There was enough for a simple living, though, with a fire in the old hall and a guest room still intact.
Trond rarely used it. The barracks were his home, as far as he was concerned, and the other guards were his family now that his brothers disappeared for months at a time to deal with secrets they never shared. It was only when they happened to return at the same time, usually by chance, that he stoked up the fire and did his best to cook a proper meal, although it always tasted dry and dusty. Maybe they compared it too harshly to their memories of the family meals every Sundas, when Pa would roast a slab of meat caught by Hjolrin and Ma would make every child scrub themselves nearly raw. Everything left the ache of nostalgia behind it, from the taste of hot, home-cooked food to the memory of standing outside and shivering, dripping with ice cold water from the wash basin.
Both Haaki and Hjolrin were here today. Even now they left empty chairs at the table, spaces where Minnel and Brandrel and their parents rightly belonged, and even now Trond could see it bothered Haaki a bit. He would glance sideways at the holes where his family used to be, and then he would have to pause, take a drink of mead, before he was able to swallow and continue eating. It was possible that Hjoll felt the same way, but Trond still couldn't get the hang of reading his face. Not beneath the beard and the war paint which Ma certainly would not have allowed at mealtimes.
The burden of conversation fell on his shoulders, as well. Hjoll had about as much to say as the animals he hunted and Haaki was too distracted even to slip scraps of meat beneath the table to Dog. Trond talked about anything and everything and didn't get a response from either of them until the candles were guttering in stubs of wax.
It was as he mentioned his fiancé. Haaki poked a cabbage leaf around his plate and bit his lip. Hjolrin might have frowned, or it might have been a flickering shadow, but Trond felt them draw in breath.
'So what about you two?' he said. 'You must have met somebody by now. You must have something to tell me. Anything.'
'No,' said Hjoll. Trond assumed that was all he would get, and almost dropped his tankard when his elder brother added, 'Don't think so.'
That was the equivalent of a novel coming from Hjolrin. No amount of prodding and teasing would get another word out of him, not even from Haaki, who raised his head and watched with interest.
'Come on, Hjoll. Tell us. You can't say that and then not add anything.'
'Nothing to add.' He jabbed his fork at Haaki. 'Unlike you.'
This seemed like a much more profitable lead to pursue. At least Haaki would form complete sentences, even if they were dedicated to avoiding the subject. Trond watched him use his fork to fold the cabbage leaf into a parcel and push it on another circuit around his plate.
'I suppose I have met somebody, if I'm honest,' he said. 'Unfortunately, she's met somebody as well, and it isn't me.'
'Why don't you tell her how you feel anyway? Tell her you understand if she's not interested, but you'd like her to know. Wouldn't that be better than never saying anything?'
'I'd like to, Trond, I really would, but you don't know who her somebody is. It's rude, but put it this way – the only difference between him and a cave bear is that he has opposable thumbs.'
'He probably isn't that bad. He'd probably never even find out.'
Haaki shrugged and fell silent. The meal was essentially over. Trond tried to keep them there, talking to himself about absolutely nothing, but the stones around the fire were cold. The candles were low. The dust was closing in. Once upon a time, Ma would have chased Haaki up to bed at this point, read him a story, while Hjolrin excused himself to pack up his belongings for a trip to the hunting camp and Trond would sit down, next to Minnel and Brandy, their knees bumping together as they built a fresh set of logs up around the fire.
These days, Haaki left of his own accord, saying a short goodbye. Hjolrin didn't even offer that and went in silence. Trond was left to clean up dinner and close the door on a cold, empty house.
