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“Papa.”
“Mm?” Thorfinn hummed, not looking up from the apple he was peeling.
“Why are your hands so small?”
“My what?” The knife paused mid-peel as Thorfinn turned his eyes towards Karli, blinking. The little table between them was just wide enough for the bowl of fruit and Karli’s elbows. And across the room, lounging nearby, Askeladd cracked one eye open.
Thorfinn cleared his throat. “They’re not small.”
Karli frowned, definitely unconvinced. He reached over, boldly taking the apple from Thorfinn’s hand to seize that same hand with both of his, studying it with grave concentration as if it was a matter of extraordinary importance.
“They are small,” Karli declared. “See?”
Thorfinn resisted the urge to pull away. “Karli...”
“They’re not much bigger than mine,” Karli went on, pressing their hands side by side. An exaggeration.
Askeladd's snort reached Thorfinn's ears. Thorfinn sweatdropped, his cheeks already flushing.
“You. Don’t start,” he said to Askeladd, not even glancing over.
“I haven’t said a word."
Unfortunately for Thorfinn, Karli glanced up at Askeladd. “Do you think Papa’s hands are small?,” he asked the old man.
Askeladd considered the question for a moment with exaggerated seriousness, then his eyes met Thorfinn's, who was giving him a look that silently said, 'don't give him weird ideas, I'm watching you'.
“Well,” Askeladd finally replied, “that depends.”
“On what?” Karli asked.
“On what you compare them to. Compared to a child’s? Not much. Compared to, say…”
He rose, crossing the short distance in a few steps to crouch in the space between Thorfinn and Karli. His hand then closed around Thorfinn’s wrist before Thorfinn could pull back.
“Eh—?”
Askeladd pressed their palms together and the difference spoke for itself.
Karli’s face lit up like a tiny sun, eyes wide. “Oh!!”
Thorfinn's face flushed red like the apples he was peeling earlier. “That doesn’t— you’re just— your hands are big, that’s all! It doesn’t mean mine are small.”
Karli's fascinated eyes travelled between them. “Papa, your hands are really small.”
Askeladd laughed.
“They are not,” Thorfinn insisted, trying to pull free, but Askeladd’s grip held firm.
“Oh, they are. And rather cute, too. Pretty, even.” Askeladd said.
“Oh shut up, you're just trying to make fun of me.”
Karli perked up. “Pretty?”
“Very,” Askeladd gave Thorfinn a glance with a lopsided smile. His thumb traced idly along Thorfinn’s palm, caressing the scars there as if illustrating the point. “Almost elegant.”
Thorfinn jerked his hand back, his ears adorably red. “Alright. Enough of that.”
“I’m praising you. You’re welcome.”
Karli tugged at Thorfinn’s sleeve, bright-eyed. “Papa, can I have small hands too?”
Thorfinn blinked, thrown off balance for the third time that day. “Your hands will grow, Karli. It's not something you can have a say on.”
Karli considered this, then asked, "And why yours didn't?"