#amelie boarchaser

[boarchasers]

Amelie is now ten years old in real time.

Out of the many things which make me feel old, this is definitely one of them.

[dalamusrex]

@boarchasers

Next step! :D

[dragonbleps]

boarchasers said: ((I would have volunteered to get some for you, but I just realised I never installed Skyrim on this PC and now have to spend an hour rectifying that.))

kjhkjhdfg oh noooo, I wouldn’t have asked you do to all that for me. I decided to go without a drawing for this prompt, at least for now. Maybe I’ll change my mind later. If you DO decide to play Skyrim anyway, though, some shots of Riften’s Temple of Mara pews would be helpful--particularly the side because I can’t figure out what pattern/shape those grooves are making ;u;

All the screenshots are, predictably and understandably, of lovely Mara herself

[boarchasers]

Family Headcanon #32 - Family Resemblance

There is a strong family resemblance among the Boar-Chasers. Out of the surviving siblings, Hjolrin and Haaki look the most similar, although it's easy to tell that Trond is their brother from their shared features, especially the Boar-Chaser nose. Overall, Minnel, Brandrel and Hjolrin were of a very similar type, being tall, dark-haired and with a broad build, whereas Trond is shorter and Haaki is slimmer than the family typically tends towards.

Amelie leans more towards Joldi’s side of the family, with her blonde hair and rounder, softer features. Her strongest Boar-Chaser characteristics are her dark eyes and Trond’s grin, especially when she’s up to mischief.

[dalamusrex]

It begins! @boarchasers

to be continued tomorrow :3c

[dalamusrex]

Amelie aged 8: demands Dal bake cookies with her. Amelie aged 80: still demands her mysteriously unaged friend bake cookies with her, also knits him a sweater every winter.

AH. MY HEART

And Dal agrees to it EVERY TIME!!! 💖💖💖

Who cares why your friend isn't aging. Unimportant. But how blessed is it to have a friend who'll bake cookies with you forever!!

This is so cute ;_; They'll be friends forever. He'll keep all the sweaters in tip-top condition.

[dalamusrex]

(Amelie showing Dal the biscuit recipe she just learned from her mother and asking him to bake with her T-T)

Oh no this is SO CUTE

I WANNA DRAW IT

[dalamusrex]

"Did you ever meet a pirate?" - Amelie (@boarchasers) "Let me see... I have, indeed, met a pirate!" - Dalamus

A welcome distraction from aching bones

[boarchasers]

Family Headcanon #31 - Amelie’s Kulning

After some time playing with the children on the farms outside Whiterun, Amelie starts asking about their kulning, and whether the Boar-Chasers have one of their own, since they grew up on a farm with goats. Trond explains that although they used to, it died with his sister. Not to be perturbed, Amelie sets herself the task of making up her own, and bothers local farmers into teaching her the technique.

When they get wind of this scheme, and once the random screeching develops into actual song, Trond, Hjolrin, and Haaki briefly debate whether they could try and teach her the Boar-Chaser kulning. None of them can perform it themselves, but Trond and Hjolrin recall roughly what it sounded like and feel as if they would know it if they heard it. With a bit of effort, they feel they could probably talk Amelie through something approximating the call they remember. Haaki, who only has the vaguest memories, is initially enthusiastic.

The first time Amelie tries to recreate the song, however, Haaki vetoes the idea immediately. Although he knows it isn’t precisely the same, it’s close enough to unlock his memories of Minnel herding the goats in from the mountains, of haunting song echoing off the hills as dusk fell, of tripping along in his sister’s wake through the fog. It’s even more upsetting that it’s not quite perfect -- as if Minnel is there, but just out of reach. For once, Trond and Hjolrin are sympathetic to his distress. They end the experiment.

Amelie doesn’t mind. She enjoys coming up with her own consistent call, and refers to it as her secret language. Since they don’t keep any animals (and Uncle Frithjofr’s nirngoats only respond to a low, repetitive drone, which isn’t fun at all), she uses it to round up her cousins instead.

The cousins end up learning it themselves, and in the way some frivolous childhood projects do, it sticks with them for the rest of their lives. They use it to call each other from their separate houses or when lost and in trouble, and in the distant future they pass it on to their own children. While it’s not the same call Minnel and the Boar-Chaser ancestors used, it does have echoes of it from what Trond and Hjolrin managed to impart, and, in a small way, a Boar-Chaser kulning is reborn.

[boarchasers]

July 27th – family or apotheosis [x]

Officially, civilians were not permitted to approach dragons in the event of an attack. Most people were all too happy to obey this decree from the Whiterun Guard and after an initial few months of panic, it had now become second nature, upon hearing that earth-ripping shriek, to duck into cover and wait for either a triumphant horn from the battlefield, or the flapping of wings followed by a long silence. There were always those who wanted a good stare, however, or to tell their grandchildren, should they survive to have any, that they had fought off the dragon menace single-handedly.

Trond, who refused to wield a bow after The Incident and didn't fancy standing in a field underneath a dragon while frantically waggling a sword in the air, often ended up tasked with keeping this would-be audience at bay. He huffed behind his helmet at the latest person to approach and readied his shield, until he recognised the dogs racing at the figure's heels.

'Haaki, get back!'

'I'm going to help.'

'Get back, troll brains!'

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.'

The rest of the meal carried on as usual. Trond snuck in an extra kiss on Joldi's cheek when she leaned forwards with his bowl of soup, which appeared to make up for his earlier faux pas. She batted his shoulder and added some extra bread on his plate. Conversation moved on to how her work had gone in the marketplace today, the customers who annoyed her, the recipe she'd come up with, which Trond offered to taste test. Neither of them noticed Amelie thoughtfully swirling her bread through her soup, staring out of the window in the direction she had seen the dragon flying earlier that day.

[boarchasers]

@dalamusrex​ answered:

The familiar chime of a child’s voice immediately grabbed his attention, and he turned to see none other than Amelie, one of his favorite people in Whiterun. The mer smiled down at her with a softness in his face that so few get to see. “A new friend? That sounds exciting! Why, I would be honored to meet them.”

Dalamus held out his hand for her to take and lead him, all while musing to himself who or what this new friend might be. Knowing children, it could be anything from an adult which tolerated their shenanigans, to another child or animal, or even an interesting-looking rock. Llaara had once picked up a worm she had decided to keep as a pet, but had thankfully been persuaded to put it back in the dirt.

Amelie took his hand and marched him firmly in the direction of the farmhouse. As she walked, her chatter filled Dalamus in on all the important business which had filled her life since they last met, from helping her mother bake sweet rolls to an interesting rock she’d found and hidden under her bed, where nobody would find it. She reached the end of her breathless recap as they reached the gate of the farm house.

‘...and I think it’s prob’ly magic. Pa said I could take it up to the big house where the Jarl lives and ask his wizard, but not yet, because we got guests. Like my new friend!’

She thrust forward her spare hand, still holding Dalamus firmly with the other. Exactly what she meant to point at was unclear. The garden around the farmhouse was quiet, nothing moving except the breeze in the herb leaves and, in a patch of bare dirt, a chicken, pecking at the ground with unusual ferocity. When it caught sight of the pair approaching it stopped and eyed Dalamus beadily.

[boarchasers]

August 1st –  dance or change [x]

Harvest's End was a source of mild controversy in the Boar-Chaser household. In Trond's opinion, it was a strong contender for the best festival of the year because of the free food and drink alone, and if that weren't enough he remembered it from childhood, when Minnel would lead the clan up to the marketplace, laden down with the farm's produce. Having distributed it around the stalls they would be granted a rare day off from their chores, free to spend the evening sampling potatoes from the firepits and a gleaming array of fruits, until the torches burned low and the only light came from the stars and stray sparks.

Joldi disagreed. Harvest's End was a day of appeasement to the Bad Man, a belief which had travelled with her family from High Rock to Skyrim, and it deserved more respect than a night of gorging on treats. It marked the beginning of winter and she was aware of the chill on the wind, the taste of snow in the air beneath a beautiful summer's evening.

Amelie wasn't interested in the debate. Amelie was only concerned about one thing.

'Can I dance this year?'

Because there was always dancing. It might not be an official part of the festival, but after a whole day of free-flowing mead and no responsibilities, few people turned their nose up when someone found a drum and a lute and began to play. While Trond tucked into his fifth baked apple of the night and Joldi made her own somewhat self-conscious supplications to Shor, Amelie liked to climb up on her Pa's shouldes to watch the dancers stamping and swirling around the largest bonfire, ablaze in colour, everyone smiling and laughing. Sometimes she could convince Pa or her uncles and cousins to spin with her in their corner of the square, but it wasn't the same as being in the thick of it with everyone else.

Her parents stopped bickering and, at last, found a point of common ground.

'No,' said Trond.

'Sorry, sweetroll,' said Joldi.

'You're not old enough yet.'

'Pa's right. Dancing is for the grown-ups.'

'But I'm growed up,' protested Amelie. 'I'm a whole year more growed up than I was last time.'

'Uncle Frithjofr gave you that new coat especially for the festival,' said Joldi. 'You want to show that off, don't you?'

'And you won't be able to dance in a coat,' said Trond. 'Dancing in coats doesn't work. You're much better off in the coat than dancing, it'll keep you warm.'

So, thought Amelie, would dancing next to the big fire, but she could tell that no amount of reasoning would get through to her parents. After a bit of foot-stamping and shouting, which she hadn't particularly expected to sway their opinion, she retreated to her bedroom, there to commiserate with her toys until the tears receded and she could bring herself to look forward to the festival.

Back in the kitchen, Trond and Joldi met each other's eyes.

'That was the right answer, wasn’t it?' asked Joldi.

'Of course it was the right answer,' said Trond. 'Definitely.'

'She's still only a little girl. Our little girl.'

'That's right. No point rushing, no need to make her grow up before she's ready. She'll realise that, when she's older, she'll thank us for it later.'

He trailed into a silence which Joldi made no attempt to fill. Instead, very quietly, she tidied up a few stray toys left beside the fireplace, absent-mindedly stroking the wooden rabbit's ears. Trond put an arm around her shoulders and -- unusually -- said nothing.

There would come a time when things had to change, when Amelie would wear pretty ribbons in her hair instead of cosy coats, and walk to the festival alone, and would dance with handsome young men, or women, instead of her family.

But, for now, she was their little girl, and maybe she might stay that way for a bit longer -- just a bit longer.

[boarchasers]

July 29th – ruins or campfire [x]

The rules were simple. Trond had made sure of that, and also to explain them in short, simple words when he passed them on to Haaki, who rolled his eyes but listened anyway. No treats outside mealtimes, no weapons, no jaunts into giant camps, no coming home with an additional puppy. He nodded, nodded again until Trond was satisfied, and finally, after being made to recite the rules back, was allowed to take Amelie off her parents' hands and down to the Boar-Chaser farmhouse for the day.

So far it seemed to be going well, and Haaki couldn't help wondering what the fuss was about. Amelie was happy doing pretty much anything, from playing with the dogs to digging in the garden, as long as someone was around to listen to her incessant chatter. She also didn't pester her uncle for sweetrolls which, in Haaki's eyes, put her several points above Trond. He watched her walking a wooden rabbit, carved by Hjolrin, over the kitchen table, narrating its journey as she did so.

'...and went back to the hole and told all her friends about her adventure and everyone was happy and they ate a pie. Uncle Haaki?'

'Aye?'

'Can we go on an adventure?'

She said it with wide, hopeful eyes, the wooden rabbit clasped between her fingers. Haaki weighed up the question against the list of rules and found it innocent enough. An adventure didn't have to mean giant camps, did it? It only had to mean the end of the garden path. Amelie wouldn't know any better, and anyway, surely upsetting her would break a rule somewhere?

Which was how Haaki found himself being towed, with surprising strength, through the garden gate, across the plains, and towards the river by a small seven-year-old girl. And that was fine. No rules broken. Even if his concern started mounting, Haaki could easily reassure himself that he had done nothing wrong whatsoever. Really, he thought, he was doing a better job than Trond. He knew for a fact that Amelie was permitted to wander around the market, talking to odd Dunmer and getting into arguments with the Battle-Borns, and that as long as she remained within shouting distance of Joldi’s stall, she was free to do what she liked. It was about time she got to see more of the wider world, with someone responsible to look after her.

Their adventure took them as far as some ruins on the road to Windhelm, which Haaki was sure he recognised. Probably from a forgotten childhood memory, a day out with his siblings, and he attributed the strange, uncomfortable feeling in his stomach to the bittersweet thoughts whenever his mind turned to those days. That was all it was: the sense of loss, the reminder of Minnel and Brandrel and the adventures they would never get to go on with Amelie. There was nothing foreboding in the fallen stones and empty archway.

After the dogs had sniffed around and confirmed that there was nobody lurking behind the crumbled walls, Amelie declared it to be lunchtime, and when Haaki failed to produce any food, having been under the assumption that lunchtime already finished an hour ago back at the farmhouse when he gave Amelie the cheese and apples prescribed by Joldi, she was unperturbed.

'Then we gotta forage! Uncle Hjoll told me about foraging. Do you know how to forage?'

'Of course I do.'

'Bet I can forage more than you!'

She marched off and began kicking stones around the ruins, apparently hoping that she might discover pastries underneath them. Some gentle guidance towards the bushes growing up the walls of the ruin produced a handful of berries, some sweet mountain flowers, a mushroom which Haaki strategically lost before it could make its way into Amelie's mouth, and an axe.

It was an old axe, probably from the back of a cart, and the blade was too dull to worry about Amelie or the dogs coming to any harm. While she laid the berries out on a stone and decorated them with the flowers, Haaki picked the axe up for a closer look and noticed the notches along the blade, close to a rusty stain. Maybe not the back of the cart, then. More likely to have been left there by bandits. Safe now, the dogs would have picked up any scent if they were likely to return, but Haaki recognised the style, crude yet effective. It was the sort of weapon--

Suddenly the memory, the discomfort, the feeling of something wrong, made sense. These were the ruins where he first found the gang of bandits who took him into their fold. Murderers, no other word for them, murderers he called friends, and then he had killed them. Who was worse, really? Brigands who’d never known better scraping a living in a hard land, or the man who fell in with them out of boredom, stabbed them in the back, and then had the audacity to ask the gods for mercy afterwards? At least they never denied their own crimes, never pretended to themselves that they were good people. He felt it now as he tightened his hand around the axe – the weight of the shaft, the noise as it sank through gristle, the bandit leader's final cry. With a shiver, Haaki realised he couldn't even remember their names now, the people who had trusted him and died for their trouble.

A small hand patted his.

'Uncle Haaki? Are you sick? Pa said you were sick before. I was sick once. Ma gave me a medicine that tasted of yuck and she gave me a blanket and then I was better.'

He dropped the axe. The head buried itself in the turf, and for a moment Haaki could only see the bandit leader's back, the blood on the grass, before a more insistent tug on his sleeve brought him back to the present.

'No, I'm fine. I just... forgot something.'

Amelie pulled him down until he was bent double and pushed her hand against his forehead. What this was supposed to achieve Haaki didn't know, but, oddly enough, it made it easier to concentrate on his surroundings. It was hard to find anything sinister in a hot, chubby hand. Nor in Amelie's giggle, which was light and playful and utterly unaware of the fading vision.

'You're weird,' she announced.

'Um. Thanks.'

'But s’all right. I'll look after you. D'you want some berries?'

'How about we eat them on the way back? Otherwise your Pa will get home and wonder where we've gone.'

Although this meant cutting short the adventure, Amelie agreed with a minimum of fuss, and soon they were on the road again. The journey back was quieter, but she held his hand right up until they entered the farmhouse, and Haaki couldn't say whether that was for her benefit or his own.

[boarchasers]

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.

...the road to Whiterun leads to home

and always has

and always will.

[boarchasers]

The Best Offence

'Remember what I always say.'

'That you got a arrow in your knee?'

'Uh, no. The best--'

'--offence is a good defence.'

'That's right. Now try and hit my shield.'

Most fencing and fighting guilds recognised the move. They called it the novice spins around with a sword and falls flat on their backside, to the great amusement of their mentor manoeuvre, and Amelie Boar-Chaser executed it perfectly, down to the quiet oof as she landed on her bottom in a patch of heather. Winded and dazed, it took her a moment to register her father's snort, which Trond took full advantage of to pretend he didn't find it funny at all and hold out a hand to help her up instead.

'It's a start,' he said, as he hauled her on to her feet. 'Everybody's got to start somewhere. Even heroes like Talos and the Dragonborn fell over a few times before they got the hang of it.'

'Did you?'

'Oh, aye, definitely. More than a few times. Still fall over now, if I'm not paying attention. Happens to the best of us. Grab your sword and we'll try again.'

It took a bit of digging around in the undergrowth to locate Amelie's sword, which had cleverly disguised itself as stick. She inspected it while she walked back into the open grass of the plains. Uncle Hjolrin gave it to her last Saturalia and it wasn't bad, for a starter sword. The wooden pommel was shaped like a bear, there were knots and twists carved into the wooden grip, and a fuller had been chiselled out along the length of the wooden blade. It was ready for all the mighty enemies she would no doubt slay with the oversized toothpick, just as soon as she was older.

She picked a few petals and clumps of moss from her hair with a thoughtful expression. Trond, ready and waiting for her next attempt with his shield raised, gave it a minute before he coughed and added,

'Whenever you're ready, sweetroll.'

'Pa?'

One thing Trond had learned about parenting was that there were a hundred different ways a child could say Pa, and each of them had its own meaning. This one, slow and considered, was his least favourite. It meant he was about to face a difficult question which he would much rather deflect onto Joldi, and if, like now, she wasn't here, he would not be permitted to brush it off or make up an answer. Amelie could have the persistence of Haaki's hounds once she got an idea in her head.

'Aye?' he asked, with some trepidation.

'Why do I gots to use a wood sword?'

'Because it's yours. Got to use your own sword. That's... tradition, that is. Heroes always have their own special weapon. Like Ysgramor and his axe, Wuuthrad. Have you got a name for your sword yet?'

That was cunning, Trond thought. Answering a question with a question, usually enough to send Amelie off on a much easier line of thought. Today, however, she shook her head and gave the wooden sword a few feeble waves.

'Woofad wasn't wood. No hero's got a wood sword.'

'Then you can be the first.'

'Why can't I use your sword?'

At least the sombre look was gone from her eyes. Now they glinted as she eyed up Trond's iron sword, guard issue, not to be distributed among any except those wearing the colours of Whiterun. He lifted it and, instinctively, held it back, out of Amelie's reach.

'Takes a fair bit of strength to carry a sword like this. Can you lift it?'

'Dunno. I never tried. Can I try? Please?'

Aware that if he said no, he would have to drag a crying child back into Whiterun as well as two swords and his shield, Trond glanced around helplessly. The plains were empty apart from themselves and, in the distance, a goat chewing the cud, which he deemed unlikely to report back to Joldi. He sighed.

'Fine. Come here.'

The moment of delight was, as Trond expected, short-lived. Amelie's face fell as quickly as the sword did from her hands, landing with a thud on the soft earth. She jumped back as if afraid it might bite her toes.

'It's heavy! Are all swords heavy? Is your shield heavy too?'

'Aye. And I have to carry them both around all day.'

Nothing could match the joy of seeing Amelie happy, but Trond had to admit that basking in her awe and admiration came close. She heaved up the handle of his sword again, getting it to her own shoulder height before she dropped it again, and repeated the exercise with his shield to confirm his claim. After it had fallen beside the sword she sat down abruptly on the grass and stared upwards.

'You must be really, really, really, really strong.'

'They don't call your pa Trond the Mighty for nothing.'

'Uncle Frith said they call him Frith the Brave but I seed him running away from a mudcrab. Even I'm not scared of mudcrabs!'

'That's because you're even braver than Frithjofr the Brave.'

'Amelie the Braverer.' She leapt to her feet and snatched up the sword, her sword, with its bear in the pommel and the dulled blade. 'And I'm gonna beat Trond the Mighty acubs he's lost his shield!'

'Wait, that's not--'

'Ha!'

A swipe to the knees, hard enough to bruise, caught Trond off-guard. Faced with a choice between regaining his balance and stopping the swearword spilling out over his lips, he opted for the latter, preferring the immediate pain of crashing to the ground over a tongue-lashing from Joldi later if Amelie repeaed what she heard. When he opened his eyes, Amelie's tiny form standing over him blotted out the sun, apart from the brilliant golden light caught in her hair.

'A good offence is a good defence,' she announced. 'You told me that! Silly Pa! And Auntie Arlain told me, if they're bigger'n you, go for the knees.'

'Aye, well, I'm going to have a few words with Auntie Arlain when I next see her.'

[boarchasers]

✿ Amelie