Victory or Sovngarde

Prologue

Before I had children, silence was golden.

But with six-year-old twins who never seemed to tire, silence was suspicious.

"Jergen! Embla!" I called from the steps in front of Jorrvaskr, hands on my hips. I told them they could run to the market and each buy one thing from Carlotta's stall, and they hadn't returned. I thought that maybe they would've been responsible enough to go out on their own. But I must have been wrong.

"Mama! Mama!" Embla cried as she ran towards me, her dress ripped and knees bloodied. Tears tracked down her face, and she smeared blood from her palm onto her damp cheek.

"What is it?" I knelt down as she stopped in front of me. "What happened? Where's your brother?"

"Hiding." She sniffed and wiped her fist under her runny nose.

"Hiding?" I pulled a small cloth from a pouch on my belt and dabbed it against her cheeks. "From what?"

"Papa. He says Papa will beat him if he finds out what he did. And he deserves it!"

"What did he do? What happened?"

"He pushed me! He tried to take my sweetroll from me, and then he pushed me down."

I pursed my lips. I knew that there had to be more to the story. As much as I trusted Embla to tell the truth, I knew that Jergen wouldn't push his sister down for no reason. And children often withheld information. "Where did you see him last?"

"In the market, hiding behind a barrel in front of Arcadia's Cauldron."

I nodded, then stood up. I took her hand in mine, careful to avoid the scrapes on her palms, and led her inside Jorrvaskr. "Let's get you cleaned up. You'll feel better then."

As soon as we stepped inside, Vilkas greeted us. He took one look at Embla, and he scooped her into his arms, letting her wrap her arms around his neck and lean against his chest. "What happened to you?"

"Jergen happened to me." She pouted. "He took my sweetroll and then pushed me down."

Vilkas's face hardened. "Where is he?"

"Hiding from you," I said, walking alongside him. "Or so she says."

"I bet he is," Embla said in a low tone. "Little milk-drinker."

"You watch your tongue, young lady," Vilkas said, voice stern. "That isn't a nice thing to say."

"I heard Uncle Farkas call Nazeem that once. It sounded mean."

"And just because your uncle said it doesn't mean you can. I don't want to hear you say it ever again, all right?"

"Yes, Papa."

Just as we reached the doors leading downstairs, in walked an ashamed Jergen. He walked right to us, but didn't dare to look either of his parents in the eye.

"I suppose you're going to explain this?" Vilkas asked.

"Yes, Papa," Jergen mumbled, head still down.

Vilkas nodded and handed Embla over to me. "I'll take care of him. Get her cleaned up."

I nodded, then whispered, "Be patient with him. There has to be more to the story."

"I will." He gave me a quick kiss, then turned back to our son. "Come with me."

I watched as he led Jergen outside, then I turned and took Embla downstairs.

"Mama, is 'milk-drinker' a bad word?" she asked me as I carried her into her and Jergen's room. It was Vilkas's old one, but we converted it after the children outgrew their cradles.