Illustration by @Jen2art

Akkael dropped his bag halfway between the shore and the long hall. He remembered hearing his axe ring against the stone path as it tumbled out, and someone yelled in Rhaynese for him to pick up his rubbish. He didn’t stop, dashing through Alabaster’s streets, without taking in any of it. The tavernas and markets that lay between him and his brother’s home had eyes peering from every crevasse as he sprinted through a stitch up the hill.

The Solstic architecture never quite looked right in any country with a settlement, particularly in Rhayne. Urkanza, from which Akkael had just returned, had its own beauty, but the Northman buildings added a certain gravitas which the traditional structures lacked. In Rhayne, however, that was not the case. The white stone homes were pearlescent and the litany of leisure centres, from amphitheatres to communal bathhouses, showed-off the vibrant and prosperous culture of the Rhaynese.

The Solstic inns, long halls, and businesses felt they had to compensate for the native beauty around them. Doran’s long hall had fifty-four doors around it. The roof looked like an upturned longship but was bigger than any boat the Solstic had sailed with. The outside walls were decorated with round shields, seemingly each painted differently, with iron bosses and rims of identical quality. The courtyard had a training ground stretching an acre, mingling with the inviting aroma of log fires and oil burning in the lanterns circling the palace-sized hall. Orange banners of the Torne family hung from the sides, and each door was intricately carved and expertly painted. It was a home fit for a king. And it was built for one, too. Though not the current one.

Akkael pushed aside thoughts of his lineage, to make way for those of his true legacy. He got to the large, central doors of the long hall and wrapped both fists around the iron knockers. Then he paused. Suddenly his heart was beating fast. It was already hyper from the mile-long sprint through Alabaster, but this was different. It threatened to bring him to his knees or run back down the hill. It told him he wasn’t ready. He was nineteen. How could he be ready? The blood rushed into his ears. The pulse beat against his temples. It was all too fast. Why had this happened? Why was he so stupid?

He massaged his head with the gap between the doors, pressing so hard he could feel the indent forming. Then he felt it; a hand gently glide down onto his shoulder. Another, though heavier and larger, fell on the other side. He turned around and saw his brothers, Doran and Magar.

Magar had gold stubble clinging in patches around his broad jaw, and faint bruising from some fight he’d probably forgotten what caused. His shirt was tight around his arms and chest, and a mead stain dripped from his collar. Doran was the definition of stately, perfectly proportioned for an approachable but fierce leader. A fur cloak cascaded down his back, with a gold clasp keeping it perched on his broad shoulders. He wore his father’s triangular spiral necklace and carried his iron-pronged crown.

It was a short moment before tears formed in Akkael’s eyes, and an even briefer one before he collapsed in their arms. Magar clasped Akkael’s tunic in the embrace, but Doran’s hand hung loose, holding onto his crown which still didn’t sit right on top of his head. They pulled away and spent a few silent moments watching Akkael fluctuate between elation and burgeoning breakdown.

“I’m sorry,” said Doran, finally breaking the silence. “If it weren’t for me, you’d have been here. It must have been a long two months.”

Akkael shook his head. “I volunteered. I… I’m such a… I’m a coward.” His chin hit his chest.

Half a year prior, Akkael’s father passed away, leaving the true influence of the Torne family in question. As a result, King Doran, Akkael’s brother, was left doing damage control as small coups and land grabs were staged all over the vast span of territory their family controlled or enjoyed indirect authority. The biggest of which was in Urkanza. Many small scuffles took place, either from local petty lords or jarls who wanted more control. Since the Urkanzan colony was forged by their father, it was important to retain power, even if Doran wasn’t technically King there. So, Akkael was sent to ensure that.

He was gone so long that he missed the birth of his daughter.

“No, you’re not,” said Doran defiantly, spinning the iron crown in his hand. People always said Doran and Akkael looked alike, it was only at that moment that Akkael saw it. It wasn’t their appearance or any of their features. It was how tortured their minds were and how burdens didn’t suit them. They were alike in one way, at least. The stress they felt at how their lives turned out, both in situations they never asked for, sprung on them too early and without warning.

It was like looking in a mirror.

“She’s beautiful.” Akkael blinked out of that thought and looked up at Magar, towering over both his brothers despite being the youngest. It took Akkael a few moments to compute what he meant. “Looks nothing like you, thank fuck.”

Akkael snickered.

“She’s got Astrid’s eyes,” continued Doran. “But there is a fire behind them; a curiosity that is just so you.”

Akkael snorted and his brothers were polite enough to hide how disgusting he looked, snot and tears streaming down his face. “What’s… what’s her name?”

“She hasn’t got one yet,” said Doran.

“What?” snapped Akkael. “She’s two months old.”

Doran looked at Magar through the side of his eye before continuing. “Astrid wanted to wait until you were back. It’s not that big a deal.”  

Akkael bit down on his cheek, trying to keep from speaking his mind. Eventually, Doran spoke again.

“Don’t be angry at Astrid,” he said. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

He shook his head, trying to jostle loose what he really wanted to say. “I’m not mad at Astrid,” Akkael finally said. “I’m mad at myself. I feel like I’ve lost so much time. She doesn’t even have a name.

Doran clamped down on Akkael’s shoulder one more time. “You will have ample opportunity to make up for lost time. Just don’t waste anymore, okay?”

Akkael felt how dry his throat was, and how tightly his fists were clenched. He couldn’t look in his brothers’ eyes, staring over their shoulders, at the ground, or anywhere else. Eventually, a face appeared between Doran and Magar.

He was far away, trying to keep his distance from the Torne brothers as they spoke. He was almost as large as Magar, but the armour he was wearing helped in that respect. His hair was braided down his back and was shaved at the side. In his hand, he clasped onto the bag Akkael dropped on the road. He wondered how the man had caught up to him so fast, but his chest was heaving as if he had been running, too.

Akkael wiped the tears off his face and snorted the snot dripping from his nose. His eyes were bloodshot but there was nothing he could do about that.

“Brothers; Doran, Magar.” Akkael started, before indicating to each of them in turn, introducing them to the new man behind them. “This is my friend, Skane.”

Skane bowed at them both when they turned around. He didn’t look comfortable doing it and Akkael would have found it funny if he weren’t in such a state. “It’s an honour to meet you, both. You have a lovely home.”

“We met in Ukbul,” said Akkael. “Without him, it’s safe to say, I definitely would not be here.”

Magar looked Skane up and down before raising his chin and grunting. Doran approached, moving the crown into his off hand ready to grasp Skane’s arm. “Nice to meet you, Skane. Welcome to Alabaster.”

Almost as soon as the two men clasped wrists, the cry of a baby burst from inside Alabaster’s long hall. It was stuttered as if she had just woken up. Akkael immediately turned to face the carved doors.

“Let Magar and me give you a tour of the city,” said Doran to Skane, which Akkael barely heard. His brother knew that, when those doors opened, he needed to be alone with his wife and child.

“You gonna be good, ‘Kael?” said Magar.

Akkael gave a thumbs up in confirmation, not looking away from the direction of the crying baby. After a moment’s pause, he felt Magar’s large hand tap him on the back and heard the footsteps of all three men fade away.

The metal of the door handles were cold as Akkael wrapped his hands around them again. He took a moment, trying to calm the stuttering breaths and ignore the log in his throat. He steeled himself, attempting to look ready for his first meeting with his daughter; trying hard to look like the strong husband Astrid had married; wanting to be a dad. With one strong push, he opened the doors.

The interior of Alabaster’s long hall was astoundingly bright. Candles from chandeliers and candelabra flickered with the air let in from the heavy double doors. A hog was roasting on the firepit in the centre of the room, with a mead troth resting next to it, warming the drink in anticipation for the cold winter nights. Rugs made of pelts contrasted the gold-trimmed orange banners that hung from the oak pillars. Beautifully woven tablecloths were a tapestry of knotted patterns and lay on each of the numerous tables that littered the giant hall. Doors and staircases led to rooms that seemed impossibly stuffed into the building, leaving the bulk of the floor plan for the central room which never seemed to sleep.

On a raised dias on the other side of the room sat Doran’s throne. Two round shields flanked the thick chair. It was carved like an obelisk, all right angles and sharp corners. The same knotted patterns as the doors and the tablecloths decorated the throne, and sat upon it, with golden braids and emerald eyes, was Astrid.

She was strumming her cithara quietly and humming. It took Akkael a moment to notice, but in front of her was a crib. The baby inside had stopped crying, soothed by the beautiful melody his wife was playing.

Akkael smiled, squeezing out another tear. She was humming a famous Solstic song, The Homesick Voyager. Eventually, after a while of humming, she started to put words to the tune.

“The sun sinks in the sea or gets filtered in the pines. Songbirds sing the wrong words, but I’m learning all their lines…”

Akkael let the doors close behind him, startling Astrid from her song. She stood, letting the cithara fall to the pillow next to her feet. They stared at each other from across the hall for what felt like an eternity, only interrupted when the baby in the crib began to stir again.

Instincts Akkael didn’t know he possessed kicked in, and he paced around the fire pit to Astrid’s side. He looked in the crib before he was ready, and his heart skipped a few beats.

His baby was loosely wrapped in white cloth, with a brown dress that peaked through the covers. She had a hairless head and large green eyes, glassy and wide, which caught the flickering candlelight. Her fists were balled, lips pursed.

Astrid was smiling in Akkael’s peripheral vision, lifting the baby from the cot and holding it out to Akkael. She offered her to him, but he shook his head, unable to speak. He just stared at her, and she stared back. She wasn’t scared of the man she’d never met, just curious; inquisitive.

Eventually, Akkael was able to croak a few words. “She’s unbelievable.”

Astrid smiled, her marked teeth showing. “I know,” she said. “I’ve told her all about you. Don’t know how much she understood, but still.”

Akkael chuckled, not taking his eyes off his daughter.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” said Akkael

Astrid shook her head a little too violently. “It’s okay. You have no reason to apologise.”

They remained in each other’s company in perfect silence, all three of them, until eventually Astrid broke the silence again. It startled Akkael when she spoke, transfixed by his daughter fidgeting in his wife’s arms.

“So,” started Astrid, looking down at the bald head of the most beautiful thing Akkael had ever seen. “What shall we name her?”

Akkael looked back at Astrid sharply, trying not to let his true feelings the moment. “I thought you were in charge of the name if it was a girl?” he said.

“I know, but none of my ideas seem good enough.” The baby stirred in Astrid’s arms, and Akkael watched her smile. “You’ve always been better at this sort of thing.”

His wife looked at him with the same green eyes as his newborn daughter. He sighed. “Okay.”

He thought for a second about the names of influential women in his life. Namesakes were a long-standing tradition in Solstic culture. Akkael was his uncle’s namesake, Doran was named after their father, and Magar has the name of their grandfather. Every Solstic child is named after someone else. Continuing the tradition with his daughter made sense.

Suddenly a face popped into his head he hadn’t thought of in years. Someone he’d forgotten how to miss but somehow still did. He chewed the name around for a bit, realising how perfect it was.

“How about Alani?”

Astrid turned sharply, carefully finding voice for her concerns. “Are you sure you want to name her after-”

She stopped, seeing clearly that nothing she said mattered to Akkael. His grin reached ear to ear as he stared at the baby in her arms. After a moment she smiled back.

“Alani,” she said, nodding slowly. “It suits her.”

“Yeah,” Akkael agreed, looking at Astrid briefly before returning to Alani.

“Are you sure you don’t want to hold her?” asked Astrid.

Akkael’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as he looked back at his wife. After a moment of staring silently, he gestured towards Alani with both arms, and Astrid gently passed her over.

Alani was still awake, though clearly exhausted. She was too curious about the new man holding her to sleep. She needed to know more. Doran was right, she had Akkael’s curiosity. It made him smile.

“My Alani.” He said it like he was testing it out. It sounded too perfect. “My baby girl. You will be the greatest thing the world has ever known. You will be strong and courageous like your mother. You will be smart, brave, and kind… and you will live forever.”