Chapter 7: Family
From within the false evening created by the shadows of the mountains looming either side of the valley, Riverwood felt eerily peaceful. Mist gathered around the river banks, muting and blurring the colours and lines of the small village as though it was a mirage, or dream. White smoke curled up lazily from the chimneys of the wood and thatch cottages, and drystone walls ran alongside the road, marked by patches of thick, silver-lined green ivy.
The road was hard-packed dirt, and whoever was in charge of maintaining it had not considered its repair to be a priority. As Hadvar and I moved along and avoided the potholes, the strong, steady beat of a hammer against an anvil rang out tunefully, keeping time for a night about to fall.
"That's home," Hadvar pointed to a house beside the road, in the same direction the melodious timekeeper was coming from. The orange glow of a forge silhouetted a wooden rail through the mists, and the house ran alongside the churning river on its far side.
"Over there's the lumber yard," he motioned toward a small bridge leading to an island, on which the other structure was built. As we continued to walk, the buildings became more substantial, and I could make out a water wheel turning slowly; the source of the gushing, churning noise that I had thought the river was creating on its own.
"That's old Hilde's house," Hadvar indicated a house to our right with a wide, sprawling verandah overlooking the main street. "Her son is the village bard," the soldier's eyes turned on me with interest. "He was a graduate of your college, years ago now. Maybe you know of him?"
"Perhaps," I murmured, biting my bottom lip as I stared at the house. I wasn't certain who I should interact with, until my name had been cleared with the Empire.
The hammer against steel sound stopped as we drew closer to Hadvar's home, and the hiss of water boiling instantly replaced it. Hadvar bounded up the stairs without hesitation, and I dogged his every step. Once the steam had cleared, I saw Hadvar's uncle sitting sideways on an upturned log by a bucket of water, with his anvil positioned in front of him.
Like all blacksmiths, he was huge – that is, well-muscled, with arms like tree-trunks. His scraggly blonde hair, beard and face were covered in sweat and dusted with ash. A worn leather apron around his waist was brimming with smaller tools of his trade – hammers, punches and an array of objects that I didn't recognise, which looked more like torture implements than blacksmithing equipment.
My heart beat quickened as I drew closer. What was Hadvar going to tell his family about me?
When the clop of our boots on the floorboards reached him, the smith turned, adopting the open, well-worn expression of a shopkeeper keen to make a sale.
The similarities between him and his nephew were plain. Though they were a hazel colour, his eyes and brows were the same shape as Hadvar's.
"Uncle Alvor," Hadvar greeted in a warm undertone that overflowed with relief.
The steel Hadvar's uncle had been working on sloshed in the bucket of cooling water, forgotten. I recognised another trait the men shared; Alvor's face lifted when he beamed a smile at Hadvar that made my heart clench with warmth. The sight of the familiar tilt, despite it being familiar for only a handful of hours, relaxed me immensely.
"Hadvar!" he bellowed, idly putting his hammer in a pocket. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, and his subtle Nord accent gave his words a pleasing, melodious lilt, just like Hadvar's accent. "This is a pleasant surprise!"
"Oh - you had better keep your voice down -" Hadvar cast a concerned glance over his shoulder.
Alvor strode to his nephew, his arms outstretched. Hadvar's plea for calm fell on deaf ears.
"Are you on leave?" he boomed. "Dorthe will be-"
He faltered; glancing up and down, taking in the state of his nephew. At once, the man's manner shifted to one of concern.
I couldn't blame him; as well as the obvious exhaustion, Hadvar's armour was charred, and his skin was flecked in places with dirt, soot and blood.
"Shor's bones, boy, you're dead on your feet. What has happened?"
"I'm fine," Hadvar dismissed in a hush, glancing to me. In the stormy-greyness, I could see restraint – warning – a reminder that I leave the talking to him. I acknowledged with a shallow nod, and he returned the gesture. "We're both fine, for now. Can we go inside?"
"Of course," Alvor agreed at once, motioning for us to walk before him. Hadvar turned and I followed across a thin, covered verandah running alongside the main building.
Alvor's eyes flit over me; part curious, part concerned as we passed by him.
I cast him an apologetic smile, feeling small and nervous again. If Hadvar intended on telling them the truth about me, not to mention what he had proposed during our walk into Riverwood – that I stay with his family while he cleared my name – I might be putting them at risk.
Be kind, I reminded myself. Don't you dare use them.
Hadvar led the way, opening the door at the end of the verandah and wordlessly ushering me inside.
The house was small, but cosy. A hearth roared opposite the main door, beside which a girl of about ten years sat. She had mousy, shoulder-length hair and was peeling vegetables as she hummed quietly to herself.
The sound of the girl's little song stopped me in my tracks and my breath caught in my throat. I watched her through a blur of sudden, unexpected tears. She was humming Kyne's Tears – a simpler version than we practised at the college, but the core, sweet melody was there, and somehow, physically painful.
Alvor must have closed the door behind us. The soft click as it shut caught the girl's attention and she stopped humming. She looked up, wearing a small, contented smile, which fell a little when she observed me. She tilted her head in confusion.
"Hello," she said, almost in question. But then she saw who was behind me; her face brightened and she threw down her knife and potato, leaping to her feet.
"Hadvar!" she bounded to us, throwing her arms around his waist.
The soldier laughed quietly as he leaned forward, hugging her back. "Dorthe, what have they been feeding you? You'll be taller than me by next Hearthfire."
Hadvar's cousin, I reminded myself, unable to stop my smile. The urge to cry left as quickly as it had risen.
"Liar," Dorthe lifted her head, retaining her tight hold as she grinned up to him. "How long are you staying? Have you come from a big battle?"
"Did somebody say 'Hadvar'?" a voice called. Movement sounded from the direction of a staircase to the far side of the house.
"Trust me, you don't want to know about this battle," Hadvar answered, arching an eyebrow. "Far too scary for a little girl."
"Hey-!" she protested with a laugh, pushing herself off him.
"Hadvar," Alvor stepped past us. His brows were crossed in warning, perhaps for baiting Dorthe so. "Dorthe, can you take over from your mama downstairs?" he placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Hadvar needs to talk to us."
Dorthe obediently stepped back, but frowned. "No!" she cried out. "Please, let me stay!" she looked between the men and added quickly. "I'll be quiet, I promise!"
"It is you!" the woman who had called from downstairs had reached the upper level - this was Hadvar's aunt, I assumed. Her coppery hair was tied back from her slim face and she had an efficient air about her, despite the spots of flour on her cheek and forehead. She was dusting her hands on her apron, leaving white finger marks in her wake. "No notice, as usual," she murmured pointedly, but clearly in jest. "And I suppose you want to be fed," she smirked.
None of them had addressed my appearance directly, but truthfully, I was contented to remain unnoticed. My head spun; so much was going on at once it was difficult to keep track of the excited conversations.
"Hmm, Hadvar, what do you think? Can we trust Dorthe with your news?" Alvor asked in that considering tone parents reserved for their children, when they were about to give in to them.
"She had better stay," Hadvar placed a hand on my elbow, nodding toward the table when I glanced up to him in doubt. "The whole of Skyrim will know in a day or two. Best she hear the truth from us."
"Us?" Hadvar's aunt finally noticed me, and shook herself. "Oh – I'm sorry," her warm manner shifted from long-suffering cheerfulness to welcoming. "I didn't realise Hadvar – I'm Sigrid," she changed her mind and joined us, motioning toward the table. "You look tired – both of you -" she cast a concerned furrow her nephew's way. "Take a seat, I'll fix some tea, Miss...?" she glanced pointedly between us.
"Oh," I shook myself out of my stupor. "How rude of me - I'm Celeste Pas-"
"This is Celeste," Hadvar said at the same time in a rush. I hesitated, wondering if he was going to tell them my family name, and belatedly remembered that he had asked me to leave the talking to him. I hastened to accept the seat Sigrid was offering me, thanking her, and cast Hadvar an incredulous look. I couldn't just stand here dumbly while they asked me questions!
"She escaped Helgen with me. Saved my life, you could say," he smirked and sat, helping himself to a dumpling from a pile on a wooden board in the centre. I felt as though he was deliberately avoiding eye contact as he took a bite out of it.
Saved him?
But his family's attention was on me. "I wouldn't call stumbling around Helgen after you saving you, but tell it your way, Hadvar."
"Did you say - escaped Helgen?" Alvor sat slowly, glancing at Hadvar with a frown. Dorthe appeared next to her father, shuffling on her seat as she looked expectantly between Hadvar and I with wide eyes. She extended her hand and took one of the dumplings swiftly from the centre before either of her parents noticed.
"Yes, escaped. You're not going to believe it," Hadvar swallowed, placing both of his hands on the table. His eyes widened, set on the wood grain as he let out a heavy breath. "Helgen was attacked a few hours ago by a...dragon."
He met his uncle's eyes at the word dragon, and I watched them both closely. Alvor's expression was level; unreadable; perhaps a little annoyed if anything. Hadvar was motionless; serious. The air thickened between them.
"A real dragon?!" Dorthe burst with a squeak.
Both men glanced to the girl, and both opened their mouths to reply.
"Hush," Sigrid cut in before either could as she reappeared at the head of the table with a teapot and tankards on a tray. She set them down with a hurried, somewhat annoyed clang. "Your cousin is teasing you," she flashed Hadvar a warning look as she began to pour the steaming liquid.
"You're not drunk, are you boy?" Alvor asked in a low voice, edged in disappointment.
"But mama, old Hilde said she saw a dragon, too," Dorthe insisted, giving her mother an imploring look.
"That's enough," Sigrid murmured quietly. "Let them explain," she passed me a tankard of tea, and her amber eyes were hard as they met mine.
I wanted to disappear into my seat; it was a weighty look that could sink a ship. After thanking her, I distracted myself, reaching for the small jug of milk in the middle of the table, sloshing a little into my tea.
"I'm sober," he promised his uncle in a quiet, steady voice.
Sigrid pressed a tankard into Hadvar's hand and then took a seat on the other side of her daughter. Her fingers were wrapped so tightly around her tankard that her knuckles were white.
"I know, it's...madness," Hadvar huffed, glancing to his tea, swirling it gently. "But it's also real. Helgen was attacked by a dragon. I'd take you to see the evidence for yourselves, if it wasn't too dangerous to go there at the moment."
"Is this dragon still in Helgen?" Sigrid asked sharply.
I wasn't certain if she believed him, but who could blame her? I hardly believed what I had seen with my own eyes. Dragons were creatures of bygone eras, of legend; the antagonists of a handful of songs rarely requested in the taverns of Skyrim.
Hadvar shook his head, meeting his aunt's eyes regretfully. "No. It flew off over Bleak Falls Barrow an hour or two ago. Then we lost sight of it."
"It could be here at any moment!" Dorthe turned to her father, her tone brimming with awe.
Alvor's gaze was trained on Hadvar. "All right, Hadvar," he muttered slowly with a conceding nod. "You would not make something like this up. I believe you. What do we do?"
Hadvar exhaled heavily as his eyes flickered to me, full of relief. "Fortify the houses," he advised, "and petition the Jarl to send soldiers into the valley, to be on the look out and assist, should an attack come."
Alvor nodded, but Sigrid spoke up. "Won't the Legion provide support? Jarl Balgruuf has limited resources, particularly with the mounting Stormcloak rebellion."
Hadvar tilted his head uncertainly as his mouth quirked at one corner. "Ulfric Stormcloak is still on the loose – all our efforts are focussed on capturing him, to stop civil war before it gets out of hand."
"But a dragon, Hadvar-" she murmured, aghast.
"I know," Hadvar rubbed his brow, wincing as though he had a headache. Perhaps he did. "We should be united in fighting it. But we won't be. It's not that simple, aunty," he shook his head. "And I can't speak for the entire Imperial Legion. I won't know what my orders are until I return to Solitude."
There was a dip in the conversation. Alvor and Sigrid exchanged a pointed glance, though their cause for concern seemed different to before. Dorthe cast a furtive look at her parents before opening her mouth then closing it quickly, before she could voice whatever was on her mind.
I took another sip of tea, turning my attention to my cup. It seemed bottomless in the dim, flickering light of the hearth and I frowned at the nut-brown liquid. I was intruding and had nothing of use to give them in return for their hospitality. Hadvar had mentioned a village inn. Once I had taken my leave of Hadvar's family, I could barter the spell book in my pack for a night's accommodation, and make for Whiterun in the morning. As the capital of the Hold, I would be able to arrange a line of credit and access to my account with one of the shopkeepers.
Alvor broke the silence; his tone lower and solicitous. "You are leaving for Solitude again, at a time like this?"
Hadvar nodded, still rubbing his brow, glancing up to his uncle. "Yes. I'll be expected for reassignment in a day or two, and the journey will take most of that. I'll set out in the morning," his eyes settled on me. "I was hoping you might have room for Celeste here, in my absence?"
I sat a little straighter, taken aback. He was still speaking for me? I had just plot a course of action for myself. "Thank you but – I couldn't possibly," I shook my head.
"Any friend of Hadvar's is a friend of ours," Alvor agreed quietly with a shrug.
"Won't you be expected in Solitude for reassignment, too?" Sigrid asked at the same time. Her eyes flit over me curiously. Of course - Sigrid assumed that I was a soldier - I had forgotten about what I was wearing.
I opened my mouth to reply to Hadvar's aunt, but had no idea what I could say - and turned to Hadvar with a pleading expression. Okay, so maybe I did need his help with this.
"It's all right," Hadvar urged quietly; placed a gentle, encouraging hand on my shoulder. "You can trust them."
He was leaving this to me?
"All right," I replied shakily. I regarded the patient eyes of his family opposite us. "I'm a bard," I owned simply. "Not a soldier. I shouldn't have even been in Helgen – I mean," I faltered, closing my eyes to centre myself. "There was a misunderstanding, at the border," I opened them again, huffing at my choice of words. Misunderstanding was an understatement. "I was caught up in it. Hadvar, he...he was the only one who..." I glanced to him, embarrassed that I was speaking all these words yet saying precisely nothing. And I dared to call myself a bard!
Catching the flicker of hearth fire, Hadvar's hair seemed much redder than it had outside. The light caught his jaw and nose, and cast shadows across his neck and cheek. The corner of his mouth rose in kind, supportive smile. I lifted my eyes to his, catching the briefest trace of that faraway look I had seen in him while I had been kneeling in the mountain flowers.
Dorthe's muffled giggle captured my attention. I turned back to them with a hasty shake to my head as my cheeks flamed. "Sorry," I stammered. "You must think I'm a madwoman. I have only fatigue to blame," I rolled my eyes.
What are you doing, idiot?
Sigrid wore a thoughtful expression; the softest look I had seen grace the woman's features since we had arrived. She brought her tankard to her lips, but spoke before she took a sip. "Ah, Hadvar. Another stray?" she muttered endearingly.
"What?" I asked quietly with a small, nervous laugh, uncertain I had heard her properly.
She shook her head - it didn't matter - and gave me a knowing smile as she drank.
"No need for apologies, or lengthy explanations," Alvor replied, his tone also more amicable than earlier. "As I said, any friend of Hadvar's is a friend of ours."
I nodded my thanks, but his words - and acceptance - made me want to give them something.
"Thank you, really. I owe Hadvar my life," I managed, meeting his uncle's eye – because I didn't trust I could meet Hadvar's again, for the moment. "He spoke for me, before the dragon came, when nobody else would listen," my throat tightened. I recalled the way he had said sorry while I was being led to the executioner's block. I had thought that his would be the last voice I would ever hear.
I lowered my eyes. Hadvar's cousin was staring at me, but I found no more amusement in her wide-eyed, enraptured gaze. "And then the dragon came and – Hadvar didn't have to come back for me – he could have run, like everybody else did - but. He didn't. He saved me. Again," I glanced to my tea. The room was silent, and I closed my eyes, wondering why I was telling them about this, of all things.
Because Hadvar's actions deserve to be acknowledged, I prodded.
I glanced up to Sigrid with a more resolved smile. "I suppose I am a stray," I laughed weakly. "But I cannot impose on your family. I am a bard – I can earn my keep."
Hadvar shuffled uneasily in the corner of my eye, but Dorthe broke the silence.
"Do you know Sven, then?"
I cast the little girl a curious look. "Who?"
"Never mind," Hadvar laughed; a sound that sent relief coursing through me and seemed to brighten the room. "And I'm sure Celeste won't go creating trouble for you like I do, aunty."
"You can take Hadvar's room?" Dorthe piped up quickly, helpfully.
"Shor's bones, child, don't condemn her to that pigsty," Sigrid murmured, horrified. "Celeste, you can have Dorthe's room," she added hurriedly. "It's no imposition."
"But mama-!"
Hadvar cut over Dorthe's protest pointedly. "And while you're here, you could watch the skies, look out for the dragon, since you know what to look for. I would consider it a personal favour," he added, his expression steady. "My contract prevents me from staying and protecting them myself."
I felt that this arrangement was doing me more favours than him, but I agreed wordlessly, saddened by his admission. As eager as I was for independence, if he felt it was a kindness to remain, I would do so, for the moment.
"If you truly believe I can be of use – thank you. I would love to stay, for a time," I admitted. The village seemed safe and quiet, and these people, Hadvar's family, seemed to be as kind and honest as he was. They were a welcome relief.
"Then it is settled," Alvor rumbled in his quiet, gruff tone. "Hadvar, you'll make for Solitude in the morning, and Celeste will remain to help us fortify the village, so we are ready if your dragon is tempted down from the mountains."
Hadvar nodded. "Given the circumstances, I might be granted leave once I check in-"
"Don't use your leave up on our account," Alvor cut Hadvar off smoothly. "The sooner you finish your contract, the sooner you will be back home for good."
Hadvar's shoulders tensed and he shuffled, sitting straighter, but said nothing.
Sigrid stood abruptly, clearing her throat. "The pies will be ready soon," she changed the subject hurriedly. "Go clean yourselves up for dinner, okay?" she glanced between Hadvar and I. Worry marked her features, but it smoothed away when her eyes settled on her nephew. "You know the rule," her brow arched. "No armour at the dinner table."
Hadvar responded with a cheeky grin that made him seem younger again, but heat rose to my cheeks. I didn't have any other clothes.
With a nod to both of us, Sigrid left the table, hastily wiping her eyes and making for the stairs. Dorthe scuttled out of her seat at the same moment, and popped up by Hadvar's side.
"Was it huge?" Dorthe asked him with wide eyes. "Did it breathe fire everywhere?"
Hadvar nodded, but Alvor spoke before he could answer properly.
"Back to your chores, lass," he instructed gently, but with an edge that left no room for compromise.
Dorthe rolled her eyes in frustration and made a sound of dissent. "Yes, papa," she droned.
The tone, the words, the looks – their entire exchange took me aback. In that moment the exchange had reminded me vividly of dialogue with my dear father, which had ended with similar eye-rolls and frustrated huffs. I took a deep breath to reign back my feelings, lest I start weeping.
"Maybe we can tell you about it after dinner," Hadvar offered as she settled next to the hearth and resumed peeling vegetables.
Alvor cast us both an expectant look. While I wondered what it was he wanted of me, Hadvar sighed, then pushed his chair back. The chair legs made a loud scraping sound against the floorboards.
"All right," Hadvar hummed, grabbing another two dumplings in one hand and taking a long draught from his tea as he stood.
"Come on, Celeste," he cast his uncle a pointed, somewhat annoyed look. "You heard the lady of the house," he stepped back.
"Oh," I leapt up. Right. No armour at the dinner table.
The downstairs section of the house was larger than the upper level. While I wondered if I could go to dinner in the red Legion-issue under-tunic, Hadvar led me down a hallway, past the kitchen and a couple of closed doors, then stopped at a doorway at the end.
He turned back to me as he reached for the handle. "Do you have anything to wear in that bag?" he asked quietly.
I shook my head as the blood rushed to my face again, but in truth I was relieved that he had asked me.
He nodded tightly. His lips formed a line as he glanced down the hallway. "Okay," he sighed. "Wait here a moment. I'll see what I can do."
He opened the door and stepped within, closing it gently behind him.
I frowned at the wood panels with only my thoughts for company. I found it difficult to settle on any one thought. I went from wondering what Hadvar had meant, to wondering how I could be of use to his family if I remained in Riverwood, to the prospect of more dragon attacks. This led me to wonder how a wood and thatch village might possibly be fortified against a creature that could breathe and rain fire.
The minutes ticked by, and Hadvar reappeared, dressed in a common pair of brown trousers and a simple green tunic, his arms laden with cloth items.
"Here," he offered. "They were mine, when I was a lad. Something in there should fit you."
It was more than I could have hoped for and I accepted the load gratefully. "Th-thank you," I managed as I dipped to catch a piece of cream cloth – a shirt? - as it tried to fall from the bundle. "Where can I change?"
"Oh -" he hurriedly stepped out of the room, waving for me to enter. "Here – I mean, it's as good as any other place. You can leave the armour with mine."
I dipped my thanks as I stepped past him, and Hadvar closed the door behind me with a soft click.
It was Hadvar's room – that much was obvious. It was not, as his aunt had called it, a pigsty. It was dusty from disuse, but otherwise looked like the organised space of a man that had once been the private retreat of a boy.
The room was small – containing a single bed against one wall, a wardrobe against the other, and a small bookshelf on the back wall, pressed up next to the bed and doubling as a side table. On the wall hung a shield – Imperial Legion issue, I thought, though it looked older than those that were currently in circulation. Hadvar had laid his armour out next to the bookshelf, on the floor.
I offloaded the clothes onto the bed, then placed my pack next to Hadvar's armour, reasoning that I wouldn't need it again tonight. I was unable to resist glancing at the bookshelf, but tore my eyes away before I could paw through his collection. I raked my eyes over the clothing Hadvar had brought me instead.
There were a couple of tunics and pairs of trousers, and most looked as though they belonged in the wardrobe of a twelve-year-old boy. He'd thrown in a couple of pairs of socks, too. I shimmied out of the Legion kilt, then started to unlace the Imperial armour as I picked out what I would wear. The cream under-shirt I had nearly dropped before, for warmth. A maroon over-tunic, lined in brown cord, with a string and eyelets at the neck, so I might adjust the fit a little. A pair of worn, grey trousers, again with ties at the waist, to adjust.
With the armour unfastened enough to wriggle out of, I lifted it over my head and gasped as my muscles protested and ached when I lowered it to the floor. With a little stumble, I reached back, steadying myself against the wardrobe doors, landing against it with a clunk.
You haven't slept in a while, you know.
"Are you all right?" Hadvar's called from outside.
I nodded, then vaguely remembered he couldn't see me. I shook my head at myself and sat on the bed, to pull off my boots. "I'm all right," I called, quaking a little. "I won't be much longer."
My feet throbbed when the leather slipped off, and I stared down in disbelief at the blisters that had developed during our escape. I hadn't even felt them, before I had seen them.
Then you can live with them a little longer, I told myself. Get dressed - you have potions in your pack, remember?
I shuffled into the clothing I had picked out before. The trousers clung to my hips, the cream tunic hung around my thighs like a sack and tightened across my bust, and the maroon one's sleeves reached about half way along my forearms. But overall, the garments were unexpectedly comfortable. I eased my aching feet into the softest pair of socks he had brought, then sat up and loosened the ties at the neck of the maroon tunic, so the material didn't pull so obviously.
Though I was now dressed, I felt incomplete. Raking my hands through my hair, I unknotted the curls as I grimaced, ashamed by the filth I felt there. Gods, I needed a bath.
Re-plaiting my hair as best I could without a mirror or comb, I knotted the braid into a bun at the back of my head in a furtive attempt to hide it, then hastened to the door.
Hadvar glanced over me when I opened it. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd fallen asleep," he grinned.
I motioned for us to proceed as I replied with a tilt of my own. "Merely struggling to make myself presentable, after two armies and a dragon attack, no bath, and in boy's clothing," I replied wryly.
"You look nice," Hadvar dismissed easily, then clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Come on. Let's go help my aunt. Her pies are worth fighting a fire-breathing dragon for."
I glanced up and laughed, wondering how my luck had flipped and thrown me into Hadvar's path. This time yesterday, I was on the back of a prisoner cart on the way to Helgen with my enemy and knew nothing of dragons. Now I was warm, safe and clothed, about to sit down to a meal with people who, after knowing me for minutes, had agreed to take me in.
Perhaps the storm that had torn through my life since my parents had died was finally over?
A/n: Bit of a slow chapter, but I really wanted to establish a sense of Alvor, Dorthe and Sigrid's characters - hopefully you think I did them justice (so far), given what we're presented with in-game. Thanks for the reviews so far, by the way. I'm relieved that Celeste's story is of interest to someone other than myself. I'm updating as quickly as possible - but as always, work gets in the way of writing more often than I'd like.