Middas, Hearthfire 2, 4E201
12:17pm
Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary, Falkreath Hold

Cicero stood right behind Amara, close enough that she could feel the heat of his stomach against her shoulders, which was really the only thing keeping her in place as she stared up at the big, intimidating man before her. The man was staring back, arms crossed over his barrel-like chest. Something distinctly predatory lingered behind his stormy eyes, something that reminded Amara of the Companions. The twins, the ones that papa had occasionally hired to train Alar in arms, had the same kind of eyes.

Finally, he grunted and uncrossed his arms, startling her from her inspection of his face. "Alright. Come on, Pup," he said. "No time like the present."

"Wh—" Amara squeaked when Cicero pushed her forward. "What? What are we doing?"

"Training with Arnbjorn, Little Listener," Cicero said cheerfully when the big man didn't reply. Amara filed the name away. "You have much to learn."

"Yeah, but I thought—from you?" she said, stumbling over her words as Cicero continued to urge her toward Arnbjorn (who she was beginning to suspect wanted to eat her.)

"Cicero is going to teach you other things," he said. "But training is an excellent way to bond with your Family."

Somehow, Amara doubted it was as simple as that. "Um... if you say so."

Arnbjorn led them to a small training area, complete with racks of weapons and training dummies. "What's your chosen weapon, Pup?" he asked gruffly.

"Papa was teaching me how to use a bow," she offered tentatively. "And Alar and I used to spar with wooden swords sometimes. But, um… I'm really more of a mage. In training." She trailed off awkwardly, cringing a little bit in anticipation of Arnbjorn's reaction. Nords didn't tend to take the last half of her declaration very well.

"HA!" Festus crowed loudly from an adjacent room. "TOLD YOU SHE'D TAKE AFTER ME, YOU BIG SHEEPDOG!"

Arnbjorn growled in Festus's direction before turning back to Amara. "That's all well and good, Pup, but what will you do when you run out of magicka? No, you need to be good with weapons too."

Amara nodded. "Yeah, that's what Mama said too." He eyed her for a moment, as if expecting some kind of protest, before turning to a rack of one-handed swords. He examined them one by one, fingers ghosting over the polished blades. Amara watched curiously as he picked one up, tested its weight, and put it back with a dissatisfied grunt. The pattern repeated several times.

"...so tiny…" he grumbled to himself under his breath. "...even lift a good, solid blade?"

Amara considered speaking up and telling him that she'd never even picked up a true blade, much less trained with one, but her shy uncertainty won out and she kept her mouth shut. No, I can't lift a blade, that's why I use magic, she thought petulantly.

"Perhaps you should start with wooden blades?" Cicero suggested in amusement.

Arnbjorn turned just enough to offer the Imperial a sneer. "Don't have any," he said shortly. "This is Skyrim, Imp—Keeper. We train with the blades we use to stay alive, even the kids."

I don't think you've ever trained children, Amara thought skeptically, eyeing the rack of full-sized one-handed swords.

Arnbjorn stopped at the very bottom of the sword rack, picking up a smaller steel blade with intricate engraving covering the hilt and crossguard. He weighed it in his hand, examining the edge with a carefully neutral expression. "Here," he said at length, flipping it in a single fluid motion and presenting her with the hilt. "Try this, Pup."

Amara hesitantly wrapped her hand around the grip, her tiny, pale fingers a stark contrast to the assassin's thick, scarred digits. He let go and her arm dropped as she took the full weight of the blade. "Oh!" she exclaimed, barely keeping the tip from clanging against the ground. It was heavier than she expected, taking both of her small hands to lift it into a decent ready position. The muscles in her shoulders quickly began to strain.

"Maybe I should go find a nice stick out in the woods to practice with?" she suggested somewhat desperately, fighting to keep the blade up. "I'm going to cut my arm off if I have to practice with this."

"She has a point," Veezara opined in amusement from the makeshift gallery, Babette and Gabrielle on either side. The girls were openly snickering. Amara stuck her tongue out at them when Arbnjorn looked away.

Arnbjorn hesitated, glancing from Amara (who was comically straining to keep the blade up) to Cicero (who entirely failed to keep the smug expression off his face). Amara could practically see the war in his head: risk maiming the Listener or give the stupid smug Imperial an excuse to gloat.

Finally, he growled in frustration and took the sword from her. "Go practice magic," he groused, his expression like a thundercloud. "I'll forge you a damn training sword myself ." Amara shrank back as he lumbered past, muttering peevishly under his breath.

Veezara chuckled and stood sinuously to his feet. "Don't take it personally, Listener—ah, pardon, Amara . Arnbjorn has very little experience with children."

"He's not exactly known for his patience either," added Babette.

"I can tell," Amara said, rubbing at her aching shoulders.

"Let's try something else for a while," the unchild said brightly, mischief glimmering in her eyes. "Festus is busy anyway, so you'll have to work on your spells later."

"Alright," Amara agreed slowly. Something about Babette's expression made her both excited and nervous. "What did you have in mind?"

My life is absurd, Amara realized as she shimmied into the gap between Mother's sarcophagus and the wall. Veezara's patient, mildly exasperated counting carried through the thin barrier of the stained glass, though she couldn't tell what number he was on. I'm playing hide-and-seek with assassins.

According to Babette, hide-and-seek was an excellent way to hone sneaking and detection skills, though Amara had serious doubts about whether or not this particular group had ever actually played together. In fact, she doubted whether any assassins had ever used hide-and-seek as a training technique. Babette probably made it all up for an excuse to distract her. Whatever, she decided. At least Cicero was playing too.

"Ready or not," Veezara sing-songed. Amara pressed her ear to the cold window, shivering in her thin training leathers. "Here I come."

The silence was deep enough that Amara could hear her heart beating in her ears. She concentrated on her breaths, slowing them and trying to draw in air completely silently. The seconds ticked by, each one winding her nerves a little tighter. She listed for footsteps, or shifting pebbles, or rustling cloth.

Nothing.

Well, she hadn't been there for very long anyway. Maybe five minutes. They were probably being nice and coming for her last, which—wait. What was that? Amara froze, holding her breath.

Nothing happened.

It must have been her imagination. This place really had a way of making her paran—

"Found you!"

Amara shrieked in surprise and jerked away as Veezara appeared at the side of the sarcophagus. He reached for her, shoving his arm between the metal and glass, but Amara had moved out of his reach. Her surprise quickly shifted to something giddier and she laughed, wiggling free of her hiding space as he strained to tag her. "Catch me if you can!" she taunted, and darted off.

"I don't think chasing was in the rules," Veezara said, but he was laughing too.

The Argonian was fast, but Amara was faster. Or he was being nice. Either way, she pushed forward, clearing the stairs into the main cavern in a single leap. Breathless, she dashed on, startling Arnbjorn as she made for the atrium. She took the stairs two at a time and glanced back to see Veezara still on her heels. New hiding place, she decided, putting on one last burst of speed.

Atstrid looked up, startled, as Amara burst into the atrium and made a dive for the map table. "Wh—" the woman started as Amara curled up against the wall, using Astrid's legs as cover. A few seconds later Veezara sprinted in.

"Ah, Astrid," he said, sounding a little flustered. Amara wished she could see the woman's expression. It must have been incredible. "Did you see where Amara went?" She held her breath at the question, one hand over her mouth.

Astrid was silent for a moment, shifting slightly on the balls of her feet. "Bedroom," she said finally. Amara grinned behind her palm as Veezara moved toward the room—and away from her. As soon as he had left the atrium, she scrambled out from under the table and tiptoed toward the stairs. She glanced back and grinned at the smirking assassin in thanks before darting back into the main cavern.

Babette shrieked in outrage a moment later, apparently having chosen Astrid's room as her own hiding place. Amara choked on a laugh and picked up her pace, making for the kitchen and it's many small hiding spaces.

Maybe Astrid wasn't so bad after all.