The Keep
His footsteps resonated against the stone walls the same way his heart hammered against his ribs—strongly, relentlessly, desperately.
The fort was going under. The rebellion had been weakened by Ulfric's death and Stormcloak hideouts and camps were getting raided with increasing frequency. It had been only a matter of time until the Imperial Legion caught up to Ralof. A raiding party had come in the middle of the night and he and his comrades barely had time to pick up their weapons to fight. But his commander had told him to escape through the secret exit and warn the nearby camp. Otherwise Ralof would have stayed to fight.
Instead he ran. Didn't even have the chance to pick up a sword. If an Imperial soldier caught up to him he was dead. Everything was a blur. The torch flames flickered on the walls, shadows shifting to his eyes as if the stone could move, promising to be hiding an armed Imperial soldier behind.
But he had to do this. He had to warn the others. What good was a rebellion if there was no one left to fight it?
Suddenly the sound of running steps was doubled, telling Ralof that someone was chasing him. He leant forward, pushing his speed, barreling down. An arrow flew pass his arm; Ralof turned the next corner to get out of range—and came upon a dead end.
He skidded to a halt. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath and quell the dread that was rising in him, but no matter how much he stared, the wall would not move, would not give him an exit, and he couldn't turn around now. He heard his chaser round the corner, stop, and tense the string of a bow.
Slowly, Ralof turned around. At least he wanted to see the face of his killer.
A half-gasp, half-exhale escaped him. He'd seen that face before. He couldn't have forgotten it even if he wanted to. The Redguard woman with the white war paint that ran from her eyes to her neck, with the scars on her lips, and her narrow eyes. There were few things Ralof had managed to forget from that day at Helgen.
"Prisoner!" He exclaimed. He never caught her name, even though they'd been arrested together and nearly executed, then managed to escape from a dragon's attack. At least he thought she escaped; somehow in the chaos he lost track of her. So she had made it out alive.
She seemed to recognize him too, because she lowered the bow. "….Ralof."
"You joined the imperials!" He spat, his surprise turning into anger in a matter of seconds.
Now she had fully lowered the bow, straightened her stance. She looked him in the eye. "I killed Ulfric Stormcloak," she said as confirmation.
"Don't take credit for such a thing. The dragonborn killed Jarl Ulfric!"
That was a well-known fact. It didn't make Ulfric's death better, but it made it honorable. How could this woman say such lies? What did she expect to do with that?
She didn't respond, but she also didn't divert her gaze from his— didn't soften it.
Ralof's shoulders slumped, realization coming over him. "So… you are…"
Of course he had heard the rumors. The dragonborn, a woman, not a Nord….so it had been her all along. The dragon attack at Helgen, the tales of dragon battles thorough Skyrim, Alduin's defeat. Ulfric's death. It had all been the work of that prisoner he'd met only briefly.
He heard her sigh lowly. Neither of them moved. Why was she holding back? Was it because of that one encounter?
They turned when they both heard the sound of someone running towards them. Soon enough the other person appeared around the corner.
"Penelope." Hadvar began, reaching the Redguard's side. Then he saw Ralof and unsheathed his sword. "You!"
On instinct Ralof raised his fists.
"Stop!" the woman commanded. Hadvar listened, restraining himself. In turn, she looked at Ralof again and said, "I don't want to fight you, much less kill you—"
"Our positions don't allow for choice,"
She cocked her head to the side. "It wouldn't be much of a fight."
Ralof's eyes went from her bow to the shine of Hadvar's sword, and had to admit she was right.
"Are you gonna fight, Hadvar?" She asked, only glancing at him.
It took him a while to answer. "I…feared this day would come," Hadvar spoke, his voice low, dragging, the way Ralof remembered he did when he was apprehensive. He'd been a quiet boy, Hadvar.
Ralof breathed out slowly. Though still on edge he couldn't help remembering his life in Riverwood: long ago when the world was simpler—at least to his child self— he had grown up alongside the man now holding a sword against him. Surely this happened regularly in a civil war, brother turned against brother, but no matter how much Ralof want to deny it, he had been dreading this moment too.
"Me too," he admitted it out loud.
The Redguard looked behind hers and Hadvar's back to where they'd come from. Once she'd confirmed the coast was clear she asked Hadvar, "Oh. Riverwood?"
Hadvar nodded. "There were fewer people back then. Neither of us with parents; he was raised by his sister, and I by my uncle. We grew up together, were friends. When we were young, we used to play…"
"War games," Ralof finished.
"War games." Hadvar nodded.
The silly things young boys came up with, picking up wooden swords and running through the town chasing one another; pretending to be hero and villain, coming up with dramatic speeches. As children they couldn't have known what it would really be like.
A long silence followed. "I left because the Thalmor kidnapped my cousin," Ralof finally said. It was the only thing he could think to say. He had left Riverwood quite suddenly; perhaps now was the moment to explain to Hadvar why. "It wasn't long until I found myself under Ulfric's banner."
Hadvar didn't respond.
"Besides, I'm a true Nord. I had to fight for Skyrim." Ralof glared.
"I've been fighting for Skyrim too!" Hadvar snapped, stepping forward.
"You joined because you were told your father was a legionnaire! You didn't know what else to do!"
"That's enough." Penelope commanded. "Keep your voices low; if someone else comes…I can't assure you'd live, Ralof. So." She fully relaxed her stance, putting the arrow she'd been holding back in the quiver. She paused for a moment, looking at Hadvar. "This doesn't concern me, not really. I don't want to fight you, Ralof. You've done me no wrong. This is between you two." She stepped back.
Ralof could only wait and observe the man before him. His hand twitched. He hated the idea of his fate being judged. He wanted to call Hadvar a milk-drinker, but that long-pass friendship stopped him. Hadvar may seem soft at first, but Ralof had known him; he'd respected him, as a Nord and friend. They had told themselves they weren't weak, and proved it on more than one occasion. At the very least, they knew each other; it was the only thing that gave him a little relief at that moment.
"I won't fight." Hadvar said, sheathing his sword. "Enough bloodshed."
"Then what do you think to do with me?" Ralof balled his fists, glaring at Hadvar. He noticed there was a piece of rope on the Legionnaire's belt.
Penelope looked from one to another for a moment, before once again looking Ralof in the eye. "Do you want us to let you escape?"
Hadvar startled, looking at her quizzically, but in the end he didn't protest.
Ralof observed them both. It briefly hit him that they seemed to be close friends. Somehow it stung, because it contrasted with him, who at this crucial moment was completely alone. But he pushed the thought away. He had to retain his dignity.
"No. I won't be pitied," He answered firmly.
"It wouldn't be pity, but suit yourself," the woman said as she took the rope from Hadvar and went to tie Ralof's hands.
He was escorted out of the narrow, dark corridors in silence. They made it to the entrance and out to the courtyard, where a carriage with two more captured Stormcloaks was waiting.
This had happened before—knowing that he had reached the end of the line. Amazing that one man could feel that twice. Dawn was breaking. Ralof looked at the keep one last time before getting into the carriage that'd take him to his death once again.
xXx
It soon became clear that Penelope was the leader of the operation, though she left Hadvar to give orders. He was no common foot soldier anymore, either. The woman rode a horse a ways ahead from him, and Hadvar marched behind, closer to the carriage.
Ralof watched them both from where he sat at the end of the cart. Two people he'd once considered friends now working in tandem to undermine what he fought for.
He breathed in deeply through flared nostrils, the cold morning air stinging and revitalizing him. Everything was covered in a blue hue, and the forest itself was dead quiet, the silence only marred by the carriage and horses. Ralof wished he didn't have to hear them, wanting to see his surroundings as they were; to see and hear Skyrim for its beauty. It was all he had left. If he had lost the support of its people and its rightful ruler, then at least he had the land itself.
The stars above were fading out, giving way to a sliver of red on the horizon.
An unusual crunching of leaves behind him brought him back to the moment at hand, and he turned to see the Redguard walking besides him. Apparently she had switched places with Hadvar.
"Hey," she said in a low voice so only he could hear. The other stormcloaks probably wouldn't have paid attention anyway; they were too beaten to even stay awake.
"You joined the Imperials. After they treated you like dirt."
She remained silent for a moment. "I repaid a kindness. Hadvar got me get out of Helgen alive when he didn't have to. To be very honest, I didn't give much thought to joining the legion, but the decision caught up to me. Skyrim is my home too, you know."
"That doesn't make sense. We were leading the true fight for Skyrim."
"Ulfric said Skyrim belonged to the Nords."
"It does."
"Tough. I'm not a Nord."
Ralof set his jaw, turning away from her. She paused, looking ahead as she thought. "Lets not get into this argument, though; what's done is done, and what's left to do is deal with the Dominion."
"The Imperials are in cahoots with the Dominion," Ralof said through gritted teeth.
"Not happily and hopefully not for long. Nobody likes them, Ralof.
"Whatever you say," he interjected, "it doesn't matter anymore. I'm out of the game now."
"Shame. I thought you deserved to watch the Thalmor fall. If I could help it, I would."
He had to listen hard, but Ralof did pick up the faint tone of regret in her voice.
"You mean the dragonborn doesn't have the power enough to defeat them?" He mocked.
"I meant, have you survive." Glaring up at him, she adjusted her bow on her shoulder. "I'll take the Thalmor down. It's what I came to tell you."
Ralof stared. Her face was set with determination. Ulfric had had an army—his own. He hadn't been a mere legate or whatever this woman was. And she still thought she could? Ralof dismissed her claim with a swipe of the hand.
"I thought you'd like to know." She said, looking him in the eye again and doubling her march to once again walk on the front.
xXx
By midday they were rounding the mountains that lead to Whiterun's plains. It was the complete opposite direction of Riverwood.
"We cannot rest. It's not that far to Whiterun now, but we can't stop." Hadvar's voice drifted from the front when he addressed his subordinates. Ralof heard even Penelope grunt.
With everyone so tired, Ralof wondered if there was any possibility to escape. But he was tired too, and weaponless. A mere cornered rat, just like the first time this happened.
Right now he wasn't taking his eyes off Hadvar, glaring at the back of his neck. Back then, that first time, he had not known what had become of his childhood friend. When Ulfric had been captured, the fight against Tullius…was not what Ralof had expected; it ended too easily. It had been a terrible feeling. Ralof held his breath at the memory. And then there he was: Hadvar, standing among the people they had just surrendered to. Hot, burning anger rose in Ralof's chest at that moment. Forget the stupid war games and mischief of children—throughout their quiet life in Riverwood, as they only heard the rumors of conflict rising in other parts of Tamriel, they had sworn one thing: to protect Skyrim one day.
You chose wrong, you idiot, Ralof wanted to berate him.
You…chose wrong…. Ralof shut his eyes tight, the thought assaulting him mercilessly, making his chest feel as if it was laden with iron. Doubt was like that. He shook his head, steeling his heart and once again convincing himself that the cause of the Stormcloaks was the better one.
It was just the current circumstances, that was all. They were leaderless, and he had failed, and was alone while ahead of him the people who had chosen differently enjoyed success. Fate was cruel to the righteous.
Ralof sighed. The carriage swayed uncomfortably as it went downhill. Still, his tiredness and soreness overpowered him, and he dozed off.
.
The carriage stopped in the middle of Whiterun plains. "That guy is dead," an Imperial soldier said close to Ralof.
There were three Stormcloak soldiers in the carriage. Ralof and a female soldier turned to look at their comrade, who was slumped against a corner and not moving. An imperial checked his pulse.
"Yeah, he's dead," he declared. "Toss him out, he's just dead weight," He commanded another soldier.
Both Ralof and the woman stood up immediately to impede the Imperial soldier from getting to the corpse.
"Move!" The soldier commanded, wasting no time in drawing his sword.
"We won't let you toss him out like garbage!" The Stormcloak woman said.
"That's what you a—!"
"What's going on?" Hadvar interrupted, coming from the front, followed by Penelope.
"There's a corpse on the carriage and these two seem to want to ride with it," the soldier answered.
"You won't throw him out like trash," Ralof reiterated. He heard his comrade exhale through flared nostrils. They were tired and weak, but at least not alone, and guarding the mortal remains of their brother was a good enough act of rebellion.
Hadvar and Penelope exchanged a look. Then for a second Hadvar looked at Ralof, and said, "We bury him."
The foot soldiers were confused, but their commander gave them a look that told them they couldn't protest, she was their higher-up.
The carriage and horses were taken to the side of the road. Still bound, Ralof and the woman got down and let the others unload the body. On the distance, its standard flapping in the wind, was Gjukar's Monument. The day wasn't too good; grey clouds spread across the sky and the wind rolled strongly on the plains.
"We'll do it," the stormcloak woman said as the foot soldiers picked up pickaxes from the side of the carriage.
"Nobody dies quietly to give two hopeless people a chance to escape," Hadvar said when the imperial soldiers turned to him to protest. They were just commanded to form a perimeter as Hadvar unbound the stormcloaks, and then took a pickaxe. Penelope hung back on her horse.
The earth was half-frozen, but between three people it did not take too long to loosen it. The imperial soldiers saw the opportunity to rest. The other stormcloak stood away from the other two diggers, but Ralof and Hadvar worked close in strained silence.
It was a bit angering. Kindness could be like that.
They could have done the whole thing without saying a word, and Ralof was pretty sure they both had the mind to if the other didn't speak up first.
Of course it was Hadvar the one to fold first. Mild-drinker.
"Gerdur's pregnant,"
Ralof's pickaxe struck the earth with exceeding force, and he glared at Hadvar.
"How do you—?"
"Frodnar told Dorthe. They still get along, despite everything."
It had been a long time since Ralof had been able to contact his sister and her family. Now Hadvar's words had hammered down how apart they were. And made him realize he'd never see them again.
"Why did you have to go and tell me that? I could have died without regrets." He spat, reassuming digging. His muscles felt as if they were burning from tiredness and the newly alighted spark of defeat.
"Thought you'd like to know your family was doing well."
"Now I'll worry about how long that'll last." Even through his tiredness he did not stop digging. Before Hadvar could say any more, he continued. "You don't get it. What you get is a good life, and Riverwood, and Skyrim. All of it built on the remains of what I hoped for it and my family." He spoke through gritted teeth, and not loud enough for anyone else to hear. The earth had become his victim and he now stabbed at it with all the strength he had as the phrase you chose wrong repeated itself over and over in his mind. He couldn't make it stop.
Hadvar clenched his jaw, then tossed the pickaxe to a side and went to get the shovels. Even Ralof had to admit by this point he was simply stirring the earth, not loosening it. He turned to find the handle of a shovel being handed to him.
"No, I get it," Hadvar said when Ralof grabbed the handle but couldn't get it off Hadvar's grip. "I'm the one who gets to see my friend die by my hand."
"You would have, a year ago. Where's this regret coming from?" Ralof managed to yank the shovel from Hadvar's grasp at last.
"It was there a year ago as well."
Circumstances were just different, was what Hadvar didn't say and didn't need to.
"I'm not taking any pleasure in your humiliation. In any of this." The worst part was that Hadvar's voice wasn't even confrontational. More than anything, it was tired.
They began digging, tossing the earth between them. The other stormcloak soldier asked for permission to get rocks to mark the grave, and she was sent off with an escort. She couldn't have gotten very far, after all; the plains would not have allowed her to hide anywhere and every imperial soldier had a bow.
They worked in silence again.
"If things could have…gone different, I'd have made them go that way."
It was a stupid thing to say, but after all those years, Ralof still had no problem believing in Hadvar's sincerity. He really did regret that Ralof had to die—at his hand, no less. It wasn't even pity; Ralof couldn't even be angry about it.
"You chose wrong," Ralof said on the low, but it made Hadvar look up. "We said we would fight for Skyrim—as Nords, to protect our families, our own brotherhood. And yet you chose to be a dog of the Empire?"
"They are what's keeping the Thalmor out of Skyrim," Hadvar said with the conviction of a well-rehearsed line. "Far as I understand, Tamriel was doing fine before the dominion. They are the ones who are the problem."
"The Empire makes them stronger," Ralof said, trying to keep his voice low, but it was the second time he had heard that excuse in a short amount of time and he was starting to think these people were just stupid. "If Ulfric had had the chance—"
"Ulfric fractured Skyrim," Hadvar quickly said through gritted teeth. But then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Keep your friends close, your enemies closer," he said, so low as to barely be heard. Immediately the conversation took an air of conspiracy Ralof hadn't been expecting.
"She told you, didn't she?"
"The Dragonborn?" Ralof realized. "That nonsense about taking down the Thalmor? You're banking on that?"
"I'm only telling you this because you deserve to know. It's a long shot, but it's a shot. An unified Skyrim, an unified Empire could take out the Thalmor from within. You don't know what we've been doing—me and her. You think any other legate would have let you burry this man? They' have let him rot by the road. But it isn't worth it to keep beating stormcloaks into the ground when we could be building up trust. We're all Nords, for Talos' sake!"
"What are you talking about?"
Hadvar clenched his jaw, slowing down. "A while ago, a woman in Whiterun was asking for help in finding her son. He was a stormcloak. They told her he had died but she believed he still lived. Penelope was the one to go find him, even though he was captured by the Thalmor. He's free now, and he knows she was an Imperial legate."
"That's foolish. It won't be long before she's brought to trial for treason."
Hadvar smirked. "Unlikely," he said, and left it at that. "She made him and his family a kindness. That's something much stronger than beating a group into submission. It's not about turning the stormcloaks into the empire. It's about…un-fracturing Skyrim."
Ralof stopped working, looking at Hadvar with disdain. But his breath came out soft, as if he hadn't had any to begin with. "This story ends in war."
"Indeed it does." Hadvar looked him in the eye. What else could it end in? Yet it was clear that Hadvar was willing to start it.
It was still foolish. Or insanely bold. For a moment, Ralof considered it. After all, he had been ready for war against the Thalmor too, and still was, if fate decided to be kind for once and give Skyrim a chance. ...Or someone made a chance for it.
But how would they turn the empire army? From inside-out? Wrestle the power out of that general's very own hands? Just the two of them?
"It's nothing definite yet. It's working with what we have right now."
Ralof had to admit there was that small flicker of possibility to it. Or at least Ralof wanted there to be. Hadvar's conviction seemed to be strong, but he had known him to have been convinced of a lot of things, most of them false. But some right. After all, who among the two of them was standing tall now?
The wind began to blow stronger and the clouds' grey hue had deepened. They hung low, their load of raid weighting them. With their hushed talk, the two Nords had not made much headway with the grave. The other stormcloak soldier was barely returning, carrying three large stones in her burly arms, when thunder broke above them.
Then it broke again, and again and again, but thunder never sounded in such a strange pattern nor did it carry that metallic edge to it. Everyone in the convoy looked up at the same time to see not one but two dragons dive down from the cover of the clouds and open their maws to rain fire upon them.
It was every man for himself. Ralof and Hadvar jumped out of the way of a fire stream, quickly regaining their footing; un-alertness meant death. Ralof saw Hadvar pull out his sword; on the other side Penelope had jumped off the horse and drawn an arrow upon her bow and fired.
He was unarmed. He was unarmed. All he could do was keep an eye on the dragons, whose wings were stirring the air around them with the force of a whirlwind and their clawing of the earth send dirt in every direction. The soldiers rushed a dragon that had landed; Hadvar fired arrows at the other and all Ralof could do was try to keep away from—
"RUN!" A female voice roared besides him and he felt himself be pulled with exceeding strength by a blur of blue and brown. His comrade let go of his arm once she knew he was following.
A shadow extended over them and without looking back Ralof knew it was the wingspan of a dragon. He heard the hiss of a breath being dragged in. Then a shout, some archaic words followed by a burst—a force that missed him and the other woman but that was close enough to push their backs and nearly make them stumble. The earth shook when the dragon fell down, and while he didn't stop running –to the hills, the rocky terrain that could surely hide them—Ralof looked back.
Hadvar sprinted to the head of the downed dragon and gave a mighty jump. Landing on the creature's skull, he spun his sword and plunged it deep. Behind them, behind the creature's thrashing tail the Redguard woman stood steady, holding an arrow at eye level, tensing the bow's string.
Ralof turned to look ahead. He didn't see the shot; he heard the dragon's roar. He kept running.
Finally they reached the sanctuary of large rock formations at the foot of the mountain range they'd been skirting. Neither of them stopped to look back, they just kept low to hide among the rocks and kept going, clawing at earth and stones to go up the incline. His muscles still ached but adrenaline fueled him; if they kept going, if they didn't stop, they could reach Brittleshin Pass and then they'd be free. He'd have escaped.
Again. A need to laugh rose in his chest but he needed his breath, so he didn't laugh at the fact that he had given himself for a dead man twice and survived both times.
What was left? What was he running towards this time? No real rebellion to speak of, just a bunch of weakened, hopeless Nords. Had he chosen wrong? He didn't think so, even as he ran. He had chosen what he believed in. It was just that fate had not believed the same; it had followed Hadvar's path, but it hadn't rewarded him either. Not really.
Whatever Hadvar—Hadvar and that woman— was planning was way more risky than what Ulfric had tried to do. He could still fail, and fail hard. If having befriended the dragonborn would be an advantage against Tullius, the empire, Ralof couldn't tell.
Who had Hadvar tangled with? It was a strange thing to think, remembering that quiet boy from so long ago in Riverwood, that he would go so far as to try and turn an empire upside down just to defend Skyrim.
One way or another they'd all assured the land a fighting chance. It was uncertain; Ralof didn't even know if those two would survive that dragon attack, or if their conspirations would come to fruition. But if they did, if push came to shove –once again– Ralof thought: At least I will live to see it.
For Skyrim, Everspeed, Ralof thought for Hadvar and kept running. Unknown to him, Hadvar wished him the same.
This is sort-of a set up for an idea of how a war against the Thalmor could begin. Got to thinking about it while doing the Missing in Action quest, and just used the chance to write something about Ralof and Hadvar and what the history between them might be.
I'd love to read your thoughts on it, reviews are love :)