AN: This one-shot is a scene filler for Chapter 36 of "Hero by Mistake", written from the perspective of Stenvar. The below contains not necessarily a spoiler, but rather an insight that the reader, from reading Deb's perspective, would never get. I'm not sure it has been clear by Stenvar's actions in the Hero stories, but after reading this, nothing will be unclear.

For those unfamiliar with my Hero Series, in the Heroverse, Stenvar is a cousin of Olfina Gray-Mane. Their fathers were brothers – Stenvar's father was much older. He is still a sellsword, but in the story he is an avid adventurer, and (as an underplot) retrieved Korir's Helm of Winterhold and thereafter became his Thane, and was given a house in the town (the house was imagined based on the Skyrim mod "A Home In Every Village".

Feels songs: "Changing of the Seasons/Fight Song (Live)" and "My Star" and "My Lover Will Go" and "From Me To You", all by Ane Brun

At the End of the Day

Stenvar Gray-Mane watched her as she trudged through the snow on her way back to the College. She turned, briefly, and smiled a smile that said "farewell, friend". He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from frowning, but the action also prevented him from smiling in return. Snowflakes had begun to fall and they concealed her face partially. He told himself that he was imagining the tears he saw on her cheeks, displacing his sadness onto her. She didn't turn around again. He watched her cloaked form walk away from him slowly until it disappeared around the curve of the road, behind the inn.

He stood there on the snow-capped road for a few moments, hoping, praying she'd come back around that bend, leap into his arms and never stop kissing him until the day he died of old age. He was shivering before he relinquished that hope, and returned indoors.

He closed the door slowly, watching the light from the day sliver against the doorframe. His fingers gripped the thin wood panel as he stared at the key. Leave it unlocked, he told himself, still hoping she'd come back, and when she did, not bother knocking and just walk on in like she owned the place – his place. He turned around. My empty place. He stared at the still-roaring fire in the hearth, the one that she started with her newfound magic. The one-room house only had the bare essentials currently, but once he had brought her inside, the house had felt complete. A home. He wondered if he had spruced up the place, put a rug here or a pantry there, if she would have felt more at home. More welcomed. More belonging.

But it wasn't the lack of creature comforts that she walked away from. She walked away from him. She walked away because he never wrote her a love letter. He had sent her plenty of gifts – necessities and things he figured she could use. And she did use them. But he never sent her a love letter.

He showed her how he felt. Gifts, kisses, assistance, guidance, multiple orgasms and conversation, but he never said the words. He was too late, now. Someone else wanted her, someone else that was likely younger, better looking, and not a vagabond. Money he had. Money was useless.

Stenvar raised a hand to his chest, to the different amulet he had put on. She never saw it, he attempted to convince himself continuously. No, he eventually admitted, she saw it – she couldn't miss it. She just didn't know what the fuck it was. He felt so stupid, then. Of course she had no idea what it was, what it meant. She had only been in his world for so long – a year, not much more – and she probably barely knew who Mara was let alone what her amulets meant to Nords.

He slipped the gold chain over his head and let it fall into his palm, setting the pendant on top of the delicate ringlets. He had found the amulet in a ruin some years ago. He forgot which ruin. The filigree design running around the pendant was different than on the amulets sold in the temple in Riften since he'd been there, twice, long ago. He figured the necklace to be ancient in origin, or at least half a century old. Either way, it was valuable, particularly because it was still enchanted with the goddess's blessing. The pale blue gem in the center of the round pendant flashed dimly, and a hint of light flitted across the intricate gold knotwork design around the gem. He wondered if Mara was saying hello, apologizing, or telling him to be patient. Maybe she was telling him to move on.

He walked over to the corner of the house where he had stashed a few things, one of them being the silver box he had found the amulet in. The inside of the box was lined with a soft, black cloth that somehow survived over the decades or centuries without rotting. He laid the amulet inside, carefully, and when it was secure he again ran his fingers over the metal and gem, watching the enchantment shimmer in response. He stared a while, letting himself feel sorry for his hazy life. He then shut in the hope he had held with the amulet. He flicked the dainty latch to the box shut, and set it on his small table. I'll bring it to the priests in Riften, he told himself. Either fetch a hefty reward, or just donate it. Either way, maybe Mara will stop punishing me for my divorces.

Stenvar slumped down onto his unimpressive chair, the only one in the house, and finally allowed himself to process his disappointment fully. Not much came up, in the end, and he wondered if his eyes forgot how to cry. He ran his hand over his balding, shaved scalp, following the slope of back of his head on to his scruffy, grey beard. He wiped his weeping nose on the back of his hand, and then found a rag to clean himself with.

He wondered then why she didn't stay, why she was so adamant to return to the College despite him not leaving until the next morning. He figured that she had fallen for that letter writer, whoever had been sending her love letters. It doesn't change the way I feel about you, he admitted. He had wanted to crumple that piece of paper and throw her down on the bed and ravage her a second time, but he had hesitated. Something told him to forget the plan. Something told him she would have said no.

Of course she would have said no, he convinced himself. Stupid old man. He turned to his side, to the sole, sad half-used candle on his little table. It was mocking him. He swatted it to the floor, watched the ceramic holder shatter, and left it there.

Let her live, he told himself. Let her live her life, and if her life brings her back to me, so be it.

He stood from the chair and made for his boots and cloak, figuring it would be easier to spend the rest of the day with friends instead of allowing himself to feel. He was steeled and ready, his mental armor donned. But as he pushed in the door to the Frozen Hearth, the heat from the expansive central fire stung his eyes and nose and they all began to water. He let them. He covered his sob with a cough, pretending to have inhaled some smoke. He rubbed his blurred eyes and cleared his nose with a manly snort before thrusting his arms over his head in a big, puffed stretch. With a growling grunt he covered up the whine he almost let out, and walked over to the table that Jenassa and Erik the Snowberry had claimed.

Jenassa saw him approach, and raised her mug to him. She made no indication that she knew anything was amiss, that he was anything but recently bedded by his favorite woman. Erik slurred something incomprehensible in greeting.

"Alright," Stenvar said to himself and Jenassa, "where were we?" He turned to the innkeeper. "Dagur!" he bellowed, sending his voice echoing around the hall. "Fair warning – I'm about to drink you dry. I gonna get stupid drunk."

Dagur nodded from behind his counter. "As you wish, Thane."

AN: I conceived of this one-shot while listening to the feels songs listed above on repeat for like an hour while on a shuttle home from the airport. It was kind of painful. My goal is to make you walk away from this one-shot horribly depressed. Sorry/not sorry. Let me know if it worked.