Tiny Raven

Stella bounced on her toes at the edge of the training yard. Dionys knelt before her, holding a wooden dagger. A copy of the one he had made Alessia.

“Really?!” Stella asked as she reached for the blade. “For me!?”

Dionys grunted, his eyes focused on Stella’s grip.

Alessia perched on a nearby bench, ankle propped up beside her, watching as Stella took the small blade and clutched it like a battle prize.

Aurelis loomed over them, arms crossed, face set hard in the afternoon sun.

“First rule,” he rumbled. “Don’t drop it.”

Stella nodded so fast her curls whipped her cheeks before she turned to Alessia.

“Watch me be scary!”

Alessia grinned, helplessly proud, but her fingers dug into the bench as Stella raised the blade. Stella copied every motion Aurelis demonstrated, tongue poking out in concentration.

“She’s going to be leading the Formicari by the time she’s eight,” she said softly.

Dionys grunted, still watching her stance.

Aurelis didn’t praise. But when Stella managed her first clean strike, her wooden blade slicing the air in a wobbly, stubborn arc, he nodded.

“Again. Faster.”

By sunset, Stella was sweaty, dusty, and exhausted, but she clutched the dagger like it was made of gold. She staggered over to Alessia and collapsed into her lap, snoring immediately.

“Should’ve started training her sooner,” Alessia joked softly. “Wouldn’t have had so many fights about bedtime.”

Dionys pressed a kiss to her temple as he lifted the sleeping girl from her lap. His fingers brushed Stella’s hair from her face, carefully not dislodging the weapon.

“Tomorrow,” he said to Aurelis.

The other man nodded.

─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─

Stella woke with the dawn, clutching her wooden dagger, and immediately bolted for Aurelis’s tent.

“AGAIN!” she demanded, her voice high and clear in the camp. “But today I want to learn how to stab!”

Alessia pulled the blanket up over her head with something between a laugh and a sigh. She snuggled closer to Dionys’s warmth.

“I gave birth to the tiniest tyrant,” she mumbled. “And now we’re all paying for it.”

Dionys exhaled sharply through his nose and tightened his arm around Alessia’s waist, hauling her flush against him. His chin dropped to rest on the top of her head, his beard scratching lightly against her hair.

“Hn.” A pause. “Worth it.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Aurelis will survive. She’s small. He can dodge.”

His thumb traced idle patterns against her hip, anchoring her closer to him as the distant sounds of the camp waking drifted through the canvas.

“Sleep. She’ll be back by noon.”

He already knew he’d be the one carrying her when she inevitably collapsed mid-swing.

Odrian swept into the tent with the energy of a man who had already been awake for hours and dropped onto the edge of the bedroll with theatrical exhaustion.

“Your daughter,” he announced as he pressed a hand over his heart, “has attempted to decapitate Aurelis with a wooden spoon she found in the kitchens.

He leaned in, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“He’s terrified of her. I saw him flinch when she charged. The Scourge of Ellun, flinching from a five-year-old with a wooden dagger and a very aggressive attitude about proper stance.”

He flopped backward, sprawling across their feet with a groan.

“I tried to intervene, and she told me–and I quote–’Uncle Ody, no talking during war meetings,’ before she banished me from the training circle.”

He cracked open one eye, grinning up at Alessia’s sleep-rumpled hair and Dionys’s possessive arm banded around her waist.

“So now I’m homeless. Exiled. Forced to see refuge with lazy people who sleep while their children conquer kingdoms.”

He reached up to gently tug a lock of Alessia’s hair.

“Comfort me with gossip and stolen rations, or I’ll tell Stella you’re both cowards who fear morning drills.”

Alessia swatted at his hand before snagging his wrist to tug him closer. “You were probably hovering and being ‘helpful’ by suggesting she aim for the throat instead of the knees. She was right to banish you. Tactical.”

She smirked down at him from the tangle of blankets. “Besides, if Aurelis is actually scared of a five-year-old with a wooden spoon, that just proves Stella’s got better battle instincts than half your army. Including you, I suspect.”

She burrowed deeper into the bedding with a groan. “And if you think I’m moving before noon to comfort your wounded pride, you’ve clearly forgotten who you’re talking to. I’ve made a profession of not moving.”

She paused, quirking a brow at him, “Though if you actually stole rations this time instead of just planning to steal them, I might consider sharing my pillow.”

Odrian gasped, clutching his chest, eyes wide with theatrical horror. “‘Aim for the throat’? Me? I’ll have you know, I was offering strictly constructive criticism on her footwork! I suggested she widen her stance! I’m a mentor, a guide–”

He cut himself off with a huff before reaching into the folds of his chlamys to produce a honeycake wrapped in waxed cloth.

“Fine,” he sniffed, holding it just out of reach. “If you’re going to be difficult, I suppose I’ll just have to eat this perfectly stolen honeycake all by myself. Pity. It’s the good kind. With figs inside.”

He paused, breaking off a piece and raising it to his lips–

Dionys growled, low and warning, and Odrian immediately shoved the entire wrapped bundle into Alessia’s hand with a grin that was all teeth.

“–But since you’re clearly starving and helpless and tragically wounded,” he said as he stretched out across them. “I suppose I’ll share. This time.”

He wiggled up between them, worming his way into the warmth of the bedroll until he was pressed against Alessia’s front, his back to Dionys’s chest, fitting himself into the puzzle of them like he’d never left.

“Though I expect compensation for my generosity. Petting. Praise. Possibly a declaration that I’m the prettiest uncle in camp.”

He pressed a quick, honey-sweet kiss to Alessia’s mouth, then settled his head on her shoulder with a contented sigh.

“Stella’s going to conquer Tharos by sunset,” he murmured, his fingers finding hers. “And I’m absolutely taking credit for her tactical brilliance. It’s only fair.”

Alessia huffed a quiet laugh, her grip on his hand tightening.

Dionys growled low in his chest, half at Odrian’s theatrics, half at the cold air now sneaking into the bedroll, before hooking his arm over both of them, hauling the pile of tangled limbs closer to his chest.

“Hn.” His chin dug into Odrian’s shoulder, his other hand snagging the honeycake from Alessia’s grip to break it into thirds. “You taught her nothing.”

He shoved one piece at Odrian’s mouth, and pressed another into Alessia’s palm, his thumb grazing her wrist in a silent demand that she eat.

“She’s fast,” he grunted, eyes closing against the morning light. “You just talk.”

Then, softer, his fingers threading through Alessia’s hair to anchor her against him. “Rest.”

His ankle locked with Odrian’s beneath the blankets, trapping him there. Safe, warm, and his.

─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─

“Uncle Auri! Uncle Auri!” Stella cried as she ran in circles around Aurelis’s legs, wooden dagger held high. “Watch me stab!”

She crouched low behind a big rock.

“VICTORY!”

She jumped out with a scream and hit the training dummy’s legs with her dagger.

A solid thwack, and Aurelis nodded once in approval.

Patrian sat on a nearby barrel, mending a tunic with the same precision that he sutured skin.

“Don’t scream during a real attack, Stella. Gives away your position.”

“But what if I want to scare them?” Stella demanded, planting her hands on her hips. “What if I’m very scary? Like a rockslide?”

Patrian hid his laugh behind a choked half-snort.

“Then you’d be a very noisy rockslide.”

Stella opened her mouth to argue when the wind picked up. It lifted the corner of a passing soldier’s cloak, revealing his shield.

A wolf.

Stella stopped, her stomach suddenly freezing like she ate snow or fell into the ocean. Her hands were sweaty and the wooden dagger was suddenly too heavy for her to hold. She barely noticed when she dropped it into the dirt.

The wolf had its mouth open, showing teeth in a vicious snarl. Just like…

Father.

The word tasted wrong, like when Mama would come back from the bad room with the chain and Stella had to be quiet like a mouse or a rock or nothing at all or the wolf would–

Aurelis saw the moment Stella’s face went slack, the way her shoulders hitched toward her ears like she was bracing for a blow. The dagger fell from her fingers and she didn’t even blink, her eyes fixed on the soldier walking away.

Rage–hot, blinding, and divine–surged up in his throat. He wanted to tear the shield from the soldier’s arm, melt the metal, burn the sigil from existence.

He shoved the fury down, locking it behind his teeth with a snarl.

It didn’t go quietly.

He was between Stella and the shield in one stride, his bulk blocking the sightline completely. The soldier–a new recruit from Mikarnes who hadn’t learned to cover his gear–flinched when Aurelis turned on him.

“Turn it.” He said, his voice like grinding stone. “Face down. Walk away.”

The recruit scrambled to obey, clutching the shield to his chest and stumbling backward until he was gone.

Aurelis wasn’t looking at him, his attention on Stella. He knelt, sand biting his knees, bringing himself to her level.

She was shaking, tiny, violent tremors racing through her arms. Her hands were clenched into fists so tight her knuckles were white.

“Stella.”

She heard him, but the sound was underwater. She stared at the wolf.

It stared back.

It was going to get Mama. It was going to put the chain back on her ankle and make her bleed and she would scream and Stella would hear it through the walls and–

“Stella, look at me.”

Aurelis put his hands on her shoulders. He blocked the view of the wolf with his body, and his eyes were serious.

Not bad serious. Just here serious.

“Stella. Look at my eyes. Not the shield.”

He kept his hands on her shoulders, firm. He waited until her gaze dragged from the dirt, unfocused and wild, watching until her blue eyes met his.

“The wolf is gone. I sent it away.” He shifted, blocking the camp, the shields–everything–until it was just them.

“It can’t touch you.”

He reached down and closed her fingers around the wooden dagger she dropped. He pressed the hilt into her palm until her grip tightened reflexively.

“Feel that? That’s yours. Dionys made it for you. Not for wolves. Not for chains.” He lowered his voice. “You’re a warrior, Stella. Warriors get scared.”

A beat.

“Then they stand.” His grip tightened, just for a moment.

Stella’s breath hitched, like when she tried to run too fast and her chest got tight. She squeezed the dagger and the wood dug into her palm, real, like Uncle Dio’s hands guiding hers.

“‘M okay,” she whispered, her voice sounding tiny and far away. She blinked fast, trying to see Aurelis’s face.

He was very big.

Very here.

“I’m… I’m a warrior.”

She said it, but her chin wobbled. She wanted Mama. She wanted her now, with her smell like herbs and sea salt. She wanted to hide her face in her neck where the wolf couldn’t see her.

But warriors didn’t hide.

Warriors stood.

Stella’s legs were shaky, but she pushed up off the ground, still holding the dagger with both hands, pointing it at the dirt.

“The wolf…” she stopped, swallowed, started again. “The wolf is bad. He hurt Mama. He put the chain on. He made her bleed.”

She looked up at Aurelis, her eyes blurry with tears she was too stubborn to shed because warriors didn’t cry.

They fought.

“I’m gonna stab him,” she said, fierce and loud, lifting the dagger up high. “When I’m big. I’m gonna find him and I’m gonna stab him lots. Then Mama won’t have chains anymore and she can walk without the limp and we’ll be safe forever.”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

Aurelis nodded.

Stella felt less like she was falling.

“Good,” she said, more to herself than to him, gripping the dagger so tight her hand hurt. “Good. I’m scary. I’m a rockslide.”

Aurelis kept his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs pressing firm against the knobs of bone beneath her chiton. He didn’t smile, but his eyes warmed, sharpening, catching the light.

“Good.” He squeezed once, hard enough to ground her. “Keep that.”

He released one shoulder to tap the wooden blade she clutched with a calloused finger. “That’s practice. For now. But when you’re grown you’ll use a real blade. And I’ll show you exactly where to stick it so he stays down.”

He crouched lower, bringing his face level with hers. “Not the throat. The tendons. Behind the knee. Makes them kneel.” His voice dropped to a whisper, conspiratorial and deadly serious. “Then you finish it.”

He tapped her chin with a knuckle. “Until then, you guard her with that wood. You be the wall. You be the avalanche–” A ghost of a smirk touched his mouth as he remembered her earlier declaration, “noisy and unstoppable. But you stay here, where the wolves can’t reach. That’s your duty.”

He straightened, offering his hand. “Can you do that, warrior?”

Stella looked at his hand. Big and rough with a scar like a knife-drawn line across the palm. It was shaking a little, just like hers, but it was strong.

She put her hand in his. Her fingers disappeared inside his grip, but his squeeze was gentle, and it made the shaking in her stomach slow down a little.

“Kay,” she said as she swallowed the bad metal taste again. “I can do that.”

She looked down at the wooden dagger, then up at the real one he was holding.

“I’ll be the loudest rockslide,” she said, squeezing his hand back with all her strength. “And when the wolf comes, I’ll make him fall down. And then–” she puffed up her chest. “–I’ll look him in the eye.”

She paused, looking back at where Alessia’s tent was.

“But… Uncle Auri?” her voice was small again, despite her trying to keep it big. “Can we… can we go to Mama? Just for a little bit? So I can guard her close-up?”

Her lip wobbled. “Please?”

Aurelis grunted, low and considering. He looked down at her trembling lip, not with pity, but with the grim assessment of a commander evaluating a soldier after first blood.

He straightened to his full height, casting a glance at Patrian.

“We’re done here.”

Without waiting for a response, he scooped Stella up and settled her onto his hip. She was lighter than his shield, trembling faintly against his armor, still clutching her weapon like a lifeline.

“Strategic withdrawal,” he rumbled, already striding toward Alessia’s tent with ground-eating steps. “You guard her from inside.”

His hand came up to cradle the back of her head, fingers broad and warm against her curls. Pressing her face into the hollow of his neck to hide her from the camp’s eyes.

“But you eat when you get there. Warriors don’t fight on empty stomachs.”

He paused at the tent flap, looking down at her with fury banked deep in his gaze.

“When you’re ready, I’ll teach you to throw.”

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