Harbinger

Karia hit the post harder and harder with the wooden sword her father had made her. She would have liked a real one, but she was only four, and her mother had said she could not have a metal blade until she was at least eight.

She saw the familiar figure of her father come through the city gate, having finished working for the day at his carpentry workshop he had over near the stables. All thoughts of being a warrior left her head, and she ran over to him as fast as her little legs could carry her. Once she reached him he swooped her up and sat her on his shoulders. She squealed in delight, and held tightly onto his hair, the same jet black as her own.

Karia’s father lifted her off his shoulders so that he could duck through the front door to the inn that his wife ran. The inn, once known as The Drunken Huntsman, was now called Stormblade having been renamed when they took over the business. It was named in honour of the nickname his wife was given by Ulfric when she helped him and his Stormcloaks defeat the Imperials some five years earlier.

He saw his wife sat in a corner by the fire restringing a bow. 

"Mama!"

Lyara looked up when her daughter cried out, and smiled when she saw her husband. She stood up to greet him and he bent a little so that he could kiss her tenderly, as he ran his broad hand slowly over her swollen belly.

"Uck," said Karia. "You two are always kissing," she moaned.

Farkas ruffled his daughter’s hair and they both laughed at the disgust showing in her large ice blue eyes.

Lyara suddenly winced, and doubled over. Farkas was immediately worried, and went to ease her back to her chair. She shook her head, and asked him to take her upstairs.

He picked her up effortlessly, and ordered his daughter to follow them. He carried his wife to their living quarters upstairs, and laid her gently onto her bed.

Lyara smiled through the pain, and tried to alleviate the concern evident on her husband’s face.

"I am fine, Farkas, but it may be time for you to go fetch Tilma. I think your son wants to come say hello."

Farkas was shocked, and immediately thrown into a blind panic. He picked up his daughter and ran out of the inn to their old house across the street. It was now lived in by Ria and his brother Vilkas. He knocked at the door, which was answered by Ria, holding her six month old baby boy.

"It’s time, Ria, I need you to look after Karia for us."

"Of course!"

Farkas kissed his daughter on the head, and placed her hand in Ria’s.

"Good luck," Ria called after him as he ran towards Jorrvaskr to fetch Timla.

Several hours later, Lyara woke from a short nap. She looked to her left where her husband sat snoring in a chair, their daughter curled asleep in his lap, her small hand wrapped around one of his large fingers. 

She sat up carefully and peered into the crib her husband had made, that was between the bed and the chair. In it, her new son lay peacefully, sleeping off the exertion of being born. She hoped that he would grow up to be as tall and as handsome as her husband, and have his black hair and ice blue eyes.

She had decided to name him Kodlak, in honour of the man who was the closest thing her and her husband had ever known as a father.