This takes place about seven years after his death. Hope you like it. Side note: Aithne is a Celtic name that I have always adored and it means 'little fire.'
Little Fire
"Arab!" A familiar voice called out. Ahmed whirled around, to be greeted by a beaming little girl. She held her arms out in welcome.
"Aithne!" He closed his arms around her in a warm hug. His black folds of fabric fluttered over them in the freezing air. He pulled back and studied her.
"You have grown!" His Norse had a thick middle-eastern accent. Aithne rolled her eyes with a chuckle.
"You have only been gone since the last full moon." Her long lashes made shadows on her pale cheeks. Her extremely light blonde hair was pulled back in a long braid.
"It has been too long, nonetheless." He laughed as his crow's feet gathered in the dark skin around his eyes. Her brows furrowed as she smiled. Ahmed could not help, but to notice how much she reminded him of her father.
"You have your father's eyes." The Arab said softly. He can see her father now, in his mind, the large figure of a heroic king sitting on his impromptu final throne, soaked, pale, and cold. Dead.
"You tell me this often, Arab." The small child's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He blinked at how she squinted her eyes and grinned with mischievous intent.
"What are you thinking, little one?" Ahmed asked as he arched a brow. She pulled away and studied him with her piercing blue eyes, just as her father had.
The memory of that day that he had learned of her reeled in his head. Herger had paced his horse next to Ahmed's stallion, or "dog" as they had put it. The north man on the enormous steed had rambled about his family and the others' families, too. Ahmed had finally managed to ask about the leader, Buliwfy. Herger's only reply was that the king had one daughter of three winters and nothing more.
"I want you to teach me how to use a sword." The bluntness of the child's words yet again pulled him out of his thoughts. He stared at her, puzzled for a moment.
"But you are young, child. A girl, as well, and that is the least of my worries. Little girls should not learn how to use such things." He uttered in a strange mixture of confusion and shock with a hint of fatherly pride.
Aithne's jaw jutted out in the signature sign of persistence that she and her father shared. Ahmed had seen Buliwfy do that many times in their short friendship. Her icy eyes flashed defiance as she squared up with him in the way a warrior of her people would. She clamped her tiny fists on her hips and glared at him.
"Just because I am a girl? You know that I can handle it. You have seen how I can beat other boys of the village in matches, Ahmed." Her tone was stubborn and Ahmed knew that as she had actually called him by his name, she was serious. He hid a smile. The thought of her being full-grown and still picking fights with the men of this area made him snicker. It won't be long till she would outgrow him. He tilted his head and tried his best imposing fatherly stance at her, but it didn't phase her one bit.
The image of Buliwfy crept into his mind. The warrior was ashen and death was coming over him fast. He had leaned against him and asked the smaller man to take care of his little girl, the fire that kept him going.
The Arab shook his head to stop the scene in his brain. He shrugged with a defeated sigh.
"Fine, but first your reading and writing lesson." He motioned to the mud at their feet. She nodded in understanding. Her blonde braid bounced around and she smiled in triumph in the exact manner that Buliwfy would have. She moved to her left and knelt. Her tiny finger dug shallowly in the muck and began to gracefully trace lines.
"There is only one God, and Mohammad is his…" She spoke, but faltered at the end. Uncertainty was clearly on her mind. The short man squatted next to her with a crooked grin. The girl of ten winters narrowed her eyes on his fingers as he corrected the symbol in the wet dirt.
"Prophet." He stared down into her intelligent eyes when she nodded. "Now let us begin!" He stood up and reached for the hilt of his sword. In one motion he pulled it out and slowly tossed it to the child. She caught it awkwardly as she stood up.
Aithne crinkled up her nose in distaste. "I cannot lift this." She complained. Her knees buckled to help her balance as she heaved the heavy weapon onto her shoulder. She fumbled a little with the blade. In the back of Ahmed's mind he could see his old friend with a great smile of pride of his daughter on his face, a smile for his little fire. Ahmed spoke once more.
"Grow stronger."
