"Come on, Ralof! Get your ass out here, I've already made a dozen snowballs!"
The seven year old Ralof blinked and grinned a moment later, leaping up from his seat at the table to run outside upon hearing his best friend's voice. His four year old sister, Gerdur, gave him a look of curiosity before continuing to eat her venison stew.
CHFF!
Ralof wiped the little bits of snow off his face. "Damn, Hadvar! You had a head start, cheatin' bastard!" He swore, grinning as he scraped snow off the porch's railings to pack into a snowball. "Hey, I heard that, Ralof! I'm gonna tell mama you swore!" His little sister called from inside the house. "Don't worry, Gerdur! I'll beat Ralof's ass for you!" Hadvar crowed, pelting another snowball at Ralof, who had ducked just in time.
"Missed me! You'd better run, Hadvar, because I'm going to get you!" He guffawed, chucking a snowball squarely at Hadvar's back as he fled.
What changed?
In all these years, what changed?
"You think he'll notice it's gone?" Ralof asked, resisting the urge to laugh as he and Hadvar snuck behind the mill. Hadvar smirked and shook his head, hoisting the bottle of wine from his backpack.
"Uncle Alvor's got plenty of this stuff. A frostbite spider would sooner grow wings than Uncle Alvor realize we made off with one of his Emberbrands." He mischievously chuckled, popping the cork of the bottle off with ease. "Besides, we're fifteen years old. Uncle Alvor's an old man. We could easily outrun him." Hadvar added, lifting the bottle to his lips and letting the promising beverage slide down his throat.
Hadvar lowered the bottle and began to cough violently. "You alright?" Ralof asked, laughing as Hadvar handed the bottle to him. "Careful. I didn't realize the Emberbrand would be this strong." He warned, wiping his watery eyes. Ralof looked questionably at the bottle before cautiously bringing it to his lips, taking a small sip, before he too broke out into a violent coughing fit.
This time, it was Hadvar's turn to laugh. "Damn it, Hadvar, are you dense? You should've grabbed the Alto. It would've been easier for our first drink." Ralof glared, ignoring the burning that ripped through his throat. "Come on, Ralof. If we can't handle a bottle of Emberbrand, we can't call ourselves real men. Are you in or out?" Hadvar asked, offering Ralof his hand. Ralof rolled his eyes before giving Hadvar a toothy grin and a handshake. "I'm in."
How did we let ourselves end up this way?
How did we drift apart?
"Ralof! Ralof!" Gerdur burst through the doors of the Sleeping Giant Inn. Ralof and Hadvar set their bottles of mead down and turned around on their barstools to face the young woman. "Hod just got back from his sales venture in Falkreath. He found out from one of the locals that the Empire rescinded upon the agreement with Ulfric Stormcloak to allow Talos worship in Markarth and arrested him." "Son of a bitch." Ralof muttered under his breath. "I'm getting pretty damn sick of these Imperial bastards telling us who we can and cannot worship. And, of all the Gods it could have been, it had to be Talos." Ralof venomously spat, slamming his fist against the counter.
"A great number of our fellow Nords have been pressing for Ulfric's release. He had to deliver a eulogy for his recently deceased father through a letter he managed to smuggle out of prison, and Windhelm is in disarray without a Jarl." Gerdur explained, pulling up a barstool to sit next to her brother. "I presume Ulfric will ascend to the throne of Windhelm now that his father's gone?" Hadvar asked. Gerdur nodded. "It would seem that way, yes. I wouldn't be surprised if our kinsmen went up north to show support for Ulfric, especially with the whole ordeal in Markarth with the Reachmen and the rescinding of the agreement."
Ralof shook his head and sighed. "As soon as Ulfric's released from prison, I'm heading up to Windhelm. The White-Gold Concordat hasn't even been in effect for very long, and I've already grown tired of it." He announced, prompting Gerdur to give him a sad smile and Hadvar to shoot him a look of surprise. "Ralof, are you serious? After all the Empire has done for us, you're going to turn your back on it over some damn treaty?" Ralof blinked. "You damn well know I'm serious. And you're telling me, despite being a Nord, born and raised in Skyrim, you're siding with them? The...the puppets?" Ralof asked, utterly aghast. Gerdur nervously backed away from the argument and crept out of the inn.
"Maybe I'm a Nord who has respect for his Empire." Hadvar bitterly replied. "Maybe you're not a Nord at all." Ralof retorted. "And to think, after all these years we've grown up together, it's all going to hell over a damn rebellion." Hadvar got up from his barstool and began to walk away. "You've not only turned your back on the Empire, Ralof. You've turned your back on your best friend." Hadvar mumbled, shuffling to the door. "Hadvar, you forgot your mead." Ralof called, holding up Hadvar's bottle of mead. "I don't want it anymore. After all, maybe I'm not a Nord at all." Hadvar repeated, leaving the inn.
I thought we would always be on the same page.
I thought wrong somehow.
"Never thought I'd see the day." Hadvar mumbled to himself, dismounting his horse. He removed a list and a freshly-inked quill from his satchel. The prisoners on the creaky, wooden cart hopped off, one by one. Hadvar glanced up at the prisoners before him and inhaled deeply, looking back down at his list a moment later. He cleared his throat. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." He called. The gagged man in purplish robes gave a grunt of disapproval, dragging his feet along the cobblestone road to stand alongside his ranks for the final time as Hadvar crossed out his name.
"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." Hadvar closed his eyes and sighed upon hearing the voice he'd heard for his entire life. "R...Ralof of Riverwood." He called, his voice ever so slightly quavering. The man he'd known previously as his best friend walked by him, standing tall and fearless as he joined his fellow Stormcloaks in the line for death. Hadvar exhaled, crossing out Ralof's name on the list. His eyes lowered to the name below Ralof's. "Lokir of Rorikstead." He called. "No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" The man in rags yelled, running past Hadvar. "Halt!" The Imperial captain called. "Archers!" Hadvar could hear the twang of a bow and Lokir's death cry a short distance behind him, but he was too numb to care.
Damn it, Ralof. Why did you have to join the rebellion?
Damn it, Hadvar. Why did you have to help the Imperials?
Hadvar looked at the space on the list below Lokir's name to find no information. He looked back up at the last prisoner, a young Nord woman. She looked to be about seventeen or eighteen. Her hair was in messy, orange-reddish braids, and her eyes were a startling blue. It's a damn shame we have to kill people so young. "Wait. You there. Step forward." The girl nervously obeyed, taking a couple steps towards him. "Who are you?" Hadvar queried. "Valelia. I'm Valelia Sharp-Sun." She replied in a lilting accent. Hadvar wrote her name down in the empty space below Lokir's. "You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman." He told her, Valelia looking down at her feet in shame.
Hadvar quickly turned to the captain. "Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list." Hadvar patiently waited for his superior's reply, secretly hoping the young woman would be let free, able to live the rest of her life as she should. "Forget the list. She goes to the block." Damn it. He heard a terrified gasp from the girl. "By your orders, captain." He replied, turning back to face Valelia. He sighed, unable to muster up a reassuring smile. "I'm sorry. At least you'll die here, in your homeland." He felt a throbbing stab of guilt in his chest as he watched tears roll down the young woman's cheeks. "Follow the captain, prisoner." He gently instructed. Valelia hung her head, walking behind the captain as she was brought to the other Stormcloaks who waited to be executed.
General Tullius had approached Ulfric Stormcloak soon after, berating him for killing High King Torygg. Hadvar had picked up a few of the words, but he couldn't bring himself to care. All he could think about was how Ralof, his lifelong friend, was in the crowd of Stormcloaks, awaiting his imminent death by the headsman's axe. A distant roar was heard, prompting Hadvar and several others to look up. "What was that?" He asked. General Tullius shook his head. "It's nothing. Carry on." Before long, the Priestess of Arkay began to give the Stormcloaks their last rites until she was abruptly interrupted by an impatient Stormcloak man, the first the be executed.
Hadvar watched as the Imperial captain put her boot to the man's back, his neck resting on the block. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" He asked, closing his eyes as he awaited his death. With a swift swing, the axe was brought upon the red haired man's neck, his head rolling off his shoulders into the basket. Blood shot from his neck and onto the block, the Imperial captain taking her boot of the body of the man, letting his corpse fall to the side.
"Next, the Nord in the rags!" The captain called, looking over at Valelia, and Hadvar gave a look of sympathy to the terrified young woman. A roar akin to the one Hadvar had heard earlier rang out through the sky. "There it is again. Did you hear that?" Hadvar asked. The Imperial captain gave him an impatient glare. "I said, next prisoner!" She called. "To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy." Hadvar advised Valelia, watching as she made her way to the block, her legs trembling the whole way over. He watched the captain put her boot to Valelia's back and found himself unable to watch the poor young woman die. He turned away, closing his eyes.
What in the name of Oblivion?
What in the name of Talos?
Fire. All Hadvar could see was fire. He could smell burning flesh and clouds of smoke, the sounds of collapsing buildings and screaming townsfolk ripping through the air. There was a dragon in Helgen, that much Hadvar knew. His legs were running, but he wasn't controlling them. He found himself pulling Haming from the rubble of his house alongside Gunnar, a citizen of Helgen he had become friends with during his time in the Legion. Hadvar and Gunnar hoisted the boy up and brought him outside. They ducked behind the remains of the house, but Haming quickly dashed away from them. "Dad! Dad!" He yelled. Hadvar watched in horror as the mighty dragon landed behind Torolf, who lay fatally wounded and bleeding in the middle of the road. "I'm finished, little cub, run for it!" Torolf yelled to his heartbroken son. "Haming, you need to get over here. Now!" Hadvar yelled.
Haming gave a horrified look to his father and ran back beside Gunnar and Hadvar. "That a boy, you're doing great." He praised, watching as the dragon roasted Torolf alive in a gout of flames. "Torolf! Gods...everyone get back!" He yelled, the three of them backing away from the dragon, who lifted his mighty wings and flew elsewhere. Hadvar noticed something from the corner of his left eye. He turned to see Valelia, who was visibly shaken by the events of the day. Her skin was slightly singed, her braids were coming undone, her face was covered in soot, and the blood of the man who was executed on the block before her was coated on her neck. He gave her a look of pity. "Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way." He ordered before turning back towards Gunnar and Haming. "Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense." He instructed. Gunnar nodded. "Gods guide you, Hadvar."
Hadvar and Valelia dashed through the blazing city, or at least what was left of it. "General Tullius is just up ahead!" He yelled to Valelia, who followed close behind. He approached the General, who gave him a look of terror. Hadvar felt fear overcome him. He had never seen General Tullius afraid. "Hadvar! Into the keep, soldier, we're leaving!" He ordered, standing firmly alongside his archers. Hadvar nodded and turned back to Valelia. "Let's go!"
The two ran back towards the keep, and Hadvar nearly stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the all-too familiar form of Ralof. The soot-covered man seemed to notice him at the exact same time. "Ralof! You damned traitor. Out of my way!" He snarled, tightening his grip on his sword. "We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time." Ralof spat back, gritting his teeth. "Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde." Hadvar yelled, running towards the barracks.
Hadvar stopped at the entrance when he didn't hear the footsteps of Valelia behind him. He turned around to see her standing in the middle of the road, visibly conflicted. He heard Ralof shouting for her to follow him. "With me, prisoner. Let's go!" He called. "Quick, I can cut you loose inside the keep." Valelia gave him a pained look and ran over to Ralof, entering the keep. "Damn it!" Hadvar swore, opening the door to the barracks just as the dragon flew back over.
He collapsed against the door, panting to catch his breath. Hadvar slowly stood back up and wiped his forehead. When he retracted his hand, it was covered in a mixture of soot and sweat. The girl, Valelia, had gone with Ralof, and he was all alone. He hated Ralof with a burning passion, but he had been his friend for the overwhelming majority of his life. Though he was an Imperial and Ralof was a Stormcloak, he secretly hoped Ralof would be alright.
In the other side of the keep, Ralof found himself wishing the same for his old friend, Hadvar.
Maybe you'll get away.
Maybe you'll survive.
Stormcloak or not, you've always been my friend.
Though you're an Imperial soldier, you're also my friend, and that's what truly matters.
Hadvar carefully dragged himself over to the nearest bed in the barracks and lay down, exhaustion suddenly overtaking him. The adrenaline of the fearful escape had died down, and he suddenly felt an intense pain growing in his arms, legs, neck, and face. The flesh was severely burned, blood beginning to seep through the broken skin. He cursed his own luck and inability to get up. If Valelia had gone with him, she could have rummaged through the barrels and chests for some healing potions. But perhaps, he thought, Ralof needed her, too. Hadvar silently closed his eyes and accepted his fate, drowning out the sounds of the attack outside.
I'll see you in Sovngarde someday, Ralof. I promise.
A/N: Thank you for reading this one-shot. Be sure to check out my other Skyrim stories Where The Cold Awaits and Shambles Of A Dying World. I advise you to read Where The Cold Awaits first, though, since the second story is a sequel to it.