Chapter 9: Not-So-Forever Goodbye

Sigrid had not just set up a cot for me. When I stepped into the downstairs shop, the small bed was made up and smoothed, with a pillow at one and and a towel folded neatly on the other. Next to it was a stout bench on which lay a pile of clothes, a hair brush, and soap. On the other side of the cot was the pack I had acquired in Helgen; she must have retrieved it from Hadvar's room. On the floor before it was a bathing barrel full of water.

I watched steam drifting up from the bath, and swallowed down the ache rising through my chest to constrict my throat. Somehow, her neat preparations were painful.

Must everything threaten to reduce you to tears, I asked crossly?

Taking a shaky breath, I stepped inside. Bathe. Sleep. Rise. Go to Whiterun.

I folded the clothes I had borrowed, unbound my filthy hair, grabbed the soap and settled into the tub. For a time I scrubbed and washed until my skin was clean, then got to work on my hair. As I worked, I focused on the day ahead of me, and how I might phrase my appeal to the Jarl of Whiterun.

Hadvar's concerns had been valid, but I had little choice but to approach the city as a Passero, if I wanted to use my father's familiarity to my, and Riverwood's, advantage. Once I had introduced myself I would need to explain what had happened in Helgen, in part, anyway. The entire point of the journey was to tell him about the dragon.

Jarl Balgruuf, the rumours you have heard about Helgen are true...

My Jarl – wait, is it 'my Lord', unless I'm a resident of his Hold?

I was in Helgen when it was destroyed by a dragon...

I cursed as the soap slipped out of my fingers and splashed into the water. I dug around to retrieve it, frustrated at my inability to settle on the right words. I was a bard, for Shor's sake! I should have been able to spin the most convincing, beautiful, right words in my sleep.

Then approach the task as though it is a performance, my brain supplied.

I shook my head as I stood and wrapped the towel around myself. Stepping out of the bath, I knelt beside it and continued working on my hair.

Jarl Balgruuf is busy and impatient. If you try to win him with pretty poetry, he will dismiss you. You must present him with the facts and trust that he will act in his people's best interests.

I washed the soap out of my hair, closing my eyes and taking deep, measured breaths, as I had been trained to do to calm my nerves before singing. I took a moment to enjoy the feel of my fingers untangling the strands of wet hair, then squeezed out what moisture I could. Relief washed through me; I was safe and clean, and alive. I could do this.

I rose and checked through the garments Sigrid had supplied. A long, creamy woollen under-tunic that I could sleep in, and a rust-coloured apron-skirt with shoulder-straps that fastened on the front panel with tiny bronze buttons. They were simple and traditional, and far more than I could have asked for. It was entirely suitable to wear while pleading my case to the Jarl.

After donning the under-tunic, I sat on the neatly-made bed and tried to dry my hair with the wet towel. I glanced around the small shop with interest. There were several pieces on the counter by the back wall; standard iron armour, short swords and daggers. Generic items that were undoubtedly made generic to meet demand and move along. On the wall hung several round, hide-covered shields, each with woven knotwork around the edges.

How much business did Hadvar's family get in Riverwood? It couldn't have been much. I rose to inspect the wares on the countertop more closely, and ran my hand around the curve of a more finely-crafted steel breastplate. It was cool to touch, and perfectly smooth, except where it was etched with curling knotwork of its own, that hadn't been visible until I had been close enough to see it.

I smiled at the design. Alvor was a true artist, if this was all his work. Had that been the path he had hoped to tread - creating art, for the joy of it - before his life had lead him to smithing. Perhaps he and I were not so dissimilar. Perhaps, after I had returned from Whiterun, I could ask him.

"Celeste?"

Hadvar's query was accompanied by a soft, hesitant knock to the doorframe.

I turned swiftly, whipping my hand off the armour. "Sorry. I was just admiring it," I explained hastily. "It's really...very beautiful."

"Sorry?" Hadvar stepped into the room, his confusion abating when he focused on me. He came to a halt and his eyes widened as he looked me up and down.

"You're clean," he accused.

I hadn't expected that. "I am," I replied steadily, squashing a curl of amusement as I tried to keep from giggling at him.

His eyes found the bathing tub and widened even more. "My aunt drew you a bath? She must really like you."

I wasn't sure of how to answer, but was eager to make things right between us. "Hadvar," I turned to face him properly, my tone warm with restrained laughter. "What did you need?"

His stormy-grey eyes swivelled back to me. "She told me to go jump in the river to wash off before bed. Do you know how cold that water is?"

I let the giggle slip as the soldier shook his head in baffled disbelief.

Hadvar's small smile convinced me that he was trying his best to make the air comfortable between us once more, as well. It comforted me to know that we both wanted to be friends.

"I just wanted to apologise," he admitted with that agreeable lilt to his accent. "You offered a great service to my family, and I had no right to say what I said."

"Oh," I blinked. We were going to talk about it?

Hadvar watched me for a response; I had been silent for too long. "I'm sorry, too," I fumbled in a rush. "I'm not sure what came over me. You must think I'm such a spoilt brat," I lifted my eyebrows, unable to meet his eyes as I trailed off.

It was Hadvar's turn to chuckle. "I don't think that's true. A spoilt child expects good fortune; you seem determined to earn yours."

I smirked at him. "I doubt either of us expected good fortune to fall from the sky breathing fire."

"Yet, here we are," Hadvar countered cheerfully. "Alive, despite Skyrim throwing dragons and bears at us."

"Not to mention the war," I added with a soft laugh. It felt good, if not a little strange, to joke about all we had faced so soon, but somehow, Riverwood had distanced us from the horrors we had endured.

Hadvar glanced to the ceiling, groaning as he ran his hands down his face. "Don't remind me," his words were muffled, then he lowered his hands and glanced at me a little uncertainly. "That reminds me. I'll write to you once I've had a chance to speak to my superiors about what happened in Helgen. Let you know what the outcome is."

I smiled gratefully and nodded. "Thank you. After I have petitioned Jarl Balgruuf, I'll return to Riverwood and await your letter."

"Great," he seemed happier all at once, smiling widely in what looked like relief. "I'm glad you've decided to stay."

"With such a warm welcome, your family may have trouble getting rid of me," I joked.

"I can live with that," his smile shifted into something more teasing. "Just, promise me you won't sell my stuff."

I glanced down to hide my laugh as relief coursed through me. Things were well between us again - before we had to leave each other on the morrow. I couldn't have asked for more.

Of course, I didn't intend on staying in Riverwood for long. I would return to tell Hadvar's family of my audience with the Jarl, and hoped to find Hadvar's letter upon my return, detailing my fate. But now was not the time to debate the point with him.

"All right, then," Hadvar took a step toward the exit. "I'll see you in the morning. Sleep well."

"You too."

Once Hadvar had left, I extinguished the lanterns and settled in the cosy cot. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I stared at the wooden ceiling of the shop; the floorboards of the upper level. All was quiet, and calm, and despite being uncertain of what challenges tomorrow might bring, it didn't take me long to fall asleep.

–

"Mama, please let me go to Whiterun with Celeste."

"Absolutely not!"

"But she'll be coming straight back! I won't get in the way."

These were the words that met me when I ascended to the top level the next morning. I felt entirely refreshed and had already prepared for my journey; wearing the under-tunic I'd slept in, the apron-dress over it, and stockings that Sigrid had provided with the Legion boots that I'd been wearing since Helgen. My hair flew free over my shoulders, tousled from sleep, but it would be worse after the walk, and I would see to it before I addressed the Jarl. It would be a waste of time to bind it now.

I stepped onto the landing and focused on mother and daughter. They were at the dining table, dressed for the day already and taking their breakfasts. Sigrid had a cup of steaming tea before her, and Dorthe a wooden cup milk. Alvor wasn't there, but I assumed that, like most blacksmiths, he started work early. The muted sound of a hammer beating against metal from the direction of the forge confirmed it.

"She'll be on important business, she can't possibly– " Sigrid began.

Dorthe spotted me and cut in hurriedly. "Celeste! Can't I come with you? Please?"

I approached and put my readied backpack down next to the seat I had occupied the night before, smiling apologetically at Sigrid. The smell of cooked fruits and spices made me suddenly ravenous. "Not this time, Dorthe. The audience with the Jarl will be boring – and what if the dragon comes to Riverwood while I'm gone? You'd miss it again."

Perhaps she had forgotten about the dragon; her eyes widened. "Do you really think it'll come before you get back?" she asked quietly.

I shrugged. Sigrid cast me a knowing glance, then rose, moving to the hearth and stirring something in a pot over the flames.

"Who can say what a dragon will do?" I mused. "But we can't all go to Whiterun. These are dark days," I spun. "Each of us have our duties. Someone has to remain in Riverwood with their eyes on the sky, just in case."

She hesitated; seemed to weigh the prospect of seeing a dragon against a journey to the Hold's capital. Then she nodded, her mouth thinning into a determined straight line. "Okay. I'll do it."

I smiled with some fondness, glancing up as Sigrid delivered a tankard of tea.

"A wise choice," Sigrid murmured. "Now Celeste, eat all you like. There's milk for your tea there," she indicated the same small jug from the previous night. "We're having porridge and spiced apples," she indicated the pot over the hearth, then assessed her table a little critically. "If you'd prefer something else-"

"Thank you," I inclined my head graciously. "This smells incredible."

Sigrid frowned, her eyes still on her table. "Don't be shy, dear," she insisted. "The porridge is a bit lumpy, and I expect you've not had a proper breakfast for a while. It'll just take a moment to whip you up some eggs, and I have a few sausages in the cellar-"

"Ooh, can I have sausages, mama?"

Sigrid cast her daughter a wide-eyed, not-now sort of look.

"No really, there is no need," I repeated with a flush.

I stood, pulling Sigrid's chair back for her. "Please, finish your tea. Relax. Porridge is great," I smiled supportively.

Dorthe piped up as her mother reluctantly sat down. "I like mine with honey, cinnamon and milk," she told me proudly.

"That sounds delicious," I told her. "Will you show me?"

Sigrid settled and Dorthe took me to the hearth. After ladling up some of the hot oats, Dorthe took me through exactly how to add the right amounts of each condiment to the meal, then towed me back to sit. Sigrid simply watched, drinking her tea and smiling a little to herself now and then.

After a minute or two of eating, the door from the outside opened, letting in a gust of icy breeze and a windswept, efficient-looking Hadvar.

"All right, aunty," Hadvar said cheerily as he closed the door, shedding his coat and scarf. When he noticed me, he flashed a smile, but continued to address his aunt. "Faendel has agreed to chop wood for the forge, if Alvor will repair his bow and provide him with a quiver of steel arrows a week."

"Steel?" Sigrid sighed.

"It's either that or you teach Dorthe to swing an axe," Hadvar sat at the end of the table, then reached out and helped himself to a pear from the fruit bowl.

Dorthe sat straighter, asking earnestly. "Can I-?"

"No," Sigrid cut in.

"Aww," Dorthe sat back, her shoulders slumping.

Sigrid shook her head; her eyes sad as they settled on her nephew. "Thank you, Hadvar," she murmured in a muted tone.

Hadvar sat forward and rested his hand over hers, squeezing encouragingly. "Aunty, this war won't last forever."

She nodded, but said nothing more.

I ate, wondering what was being left unsaid. It was clear that Hadvar's family wanted him back. But then, no family wanted their loved ones away at war, so that was not unusual. From what I could gather, Hadvar had been out securing the help of someone to take up a job that had once, perhaps, been his. And by doing so, it was costing his family a little of their livelihood.

I swallowed my mouthful and spoke as an idea occurred to me. "Why don't I take some of Alvor's work to Whiterun to sell for him?"

All three sets of eyes at the table turned to me, each in various states of confusion.

"I mean," I clarified, "there'll be a marketplace, won't there? Perhaps I can get you a good price, move some of your stock?" I brightened. It would make me feel better about landing on their family during these difficult times.

Sigrid looked regretful as she shook her head. "Whiterun is home to Eorlund Grey-Mane."

I crossed my brows, and she explained with a sigh.

"He's the finest smith in Skyrim, dear," she shrugged. "Whiterun has no need of our wares."

"But," my brows remained crossed. "Alvor's work is beautiful. I was admiring it last night, before I went to bed," I told her. "Surely this Grey-Mane fellow's gear can't be to everybody's tastes?"

"Perhaps not," Sigrid agreed, "but it's impossible to fetch a decent price for anything that isn't Skyforge steel in Whiterun. And when Grey-Mane's shop doesn't meet the needs, there's Warmaiden's – another smithy, if you can believe it. You'd be weighing yourself down for nothing."

"The Avenicci's are smithing for the Legion, though," Hadvar's expression had become supportive over the course of our conversation. "And Grey-Mane provides little for anyone but the Companions these days, or so I've heard. He refuses to back anyone who might sell on to the Legion. Celeste's idea has merit."

Sigrid still seemed uncertain.

"What if she just takes the leather?" Dorthe asked hopefully. "That won't weigh her down at all!"

Sigrid glanced to her daughter before she laughed a little. "Well, I know when I'm outnumbered," she smiled at me. "If you are certain-?"

"I am," I assured her. "It's no trouble."

She nodded; "That would be very kind of you."

I grinned. "Great. I'll sell it before I address the Jarl."

"All right," Sigrid stood, looking pinked but more pleased. She waved at my bowl of half-eaten porridge. "Finish up your breakfast. Take as long as you like. I'll check through the shop," she bustled away.

Hadvar shifted to the seat his aunt had been occupying, next to me.

"That," he met my eyes with appreciation in his, "was a fantastic idea."

He reached across the table, grabbing a bowl of stewed apple that sitting in Sigrid's seat had put him within reach of. "I was worried I'd be leaving her in tears, again," he took up a spoonful of the spicy fruit hungrily. "By the Eight, I'm going to miss this food," he mumbled through his mouthful.

"Hadvar," Dorthe piped up. "You really shouldn't talk while you're eating, it's very rude," she said in a voice with a trace of her mother's tone. "You'll offend our guest."

I had to laugh at them, and ducked my head, spooning up some more porridge to hide it.

Hadvar swallowed and replaced the bowl as he threw me an amused, sideways glance. "I'm sure she'll forgive me. We don't get anything like your mama's food in the army."

He'll be leaving soon. My smile fell as my merriment waned. "When are you setting out for Solitude?"

"Within the hour," his eyes widened as though there was still much to do before leaving. He pressed his hands on the table as he rose. "Which means, I need to get changed. Can't have the Legion think I've been dallying in Riverwood," he added wryly as he moved toward the staircase.

My chest fluttered - we would soon be parting. I barely knew him, or his family, yet it made me ache to think that I might not see him again.

I stood hastily, without any reason to. "You will say goodbye, before you go?"

I suppressed a wince as soon as the words fled my mouth; they were small and needy.

Hadvar paused, then cast me an easy, lopsided smile over his shoulder. "No way. Not a fan of goodbyes. I'll be sneaking out a window as soon as I'm ready."

Narrowing my eyes, I suppressed the urge to throw something at him.

He descended the stairs at a run, and I turned back to my breakfast.

Before I'd eaten another mouthful, Dorthe spoke up suspiciously. "You're going to kiss him, aren't you?"

"What?" I nearly dropped my spoon; my giddy smile faltered.

"Or he's going to kiss you. I'm not sure how these things work," she mused with a half-frown, then quickly perked up. "Are you going to marry him?"

I sat back and regarded the seven-year-old with startled, wide eyes. "Whatever makes you say that? We met yesterday."

"I can be your flower girl!" Dorthe sat back in her chair too, lifting her spoon with a happy smile.

"Dorthe, I'm nineteen," I shook my surprise off with a desperate laugh. "I have no plans to marry anybody."

"But you're nice and pretty, and Hadvar is nice and handsome; your babies would be so sweet. Mama and papa married when they were eighteen," Dorthe advised pointedly, then ate her last spoonful and cast her spoon into the empty bowl with a dull clatter. "All done! I'll be at the forge if mama asks," she pushed her chair back hurriedly.

I watched her leaving as I tried to catch up to what she'd said. When unchecked, everything she did was fast.

She spun back to me quickly, before she had reached the door. "I don't mind, you know. If you want to marry my cousin. I won't tell him," her eyes shone, thrilled at the prospect of safekeeping this special secret she had invented.

And with the door clicking shut behind her, she was gone.

I lifted my eyebrows and let out a weighty puff of air as I stared into my bowl. I wanted to both laugh and cry. I respected Hadvar and owed my life to him, but...kiss Hadvar? Marry Hadvar? Hadvar who? I still didn't know his family name, yet here I was, sitting dumbstruck at his dining table, allowing myself to be rattled by the wild musings of his cousin.

She's seven, I told myself. I couldn't remember what being seven years old was like, but I was fairly sure that Giselle and I had assumed every unmarried man and woman that spoke to one another should marry, too, and would bargain over which couple we'd each be flower girl for.

Any excuse to wear a pretty dress, I smiled sadly. Back then, we had competed, and fought over minor things, but we had also spent a lot of time together, as friends.

I didn't have long to mull over my sister, or Dorthe's startling presumption. Soon after Dorthe had left, Sigrid ascended with an armload of leather armour, talking about why certain items might fetch a higher price and asking my opinion of each on her shortlist.

I knelt on the floor with her and poured over the leatherwork; a welcome distraction from the memory of a Giselle who loved me, and the looming farewell to a man that, if only I could know him better, I just might.

–

By the time Sigrid and I sorted through the leather armour, Hadvar joined us upstairs, dressed in the Legion armour that I had first sighted him in as I was being led to my execution. His hair was tied out of the way and his helmet was already on; both served to harden the broad angles of his chin.

The sight of him stilled me. It was a reminder of the realities waiting for us outside of this moment, this place of peace.

"Have you seen Alvor yet?" he asked, his expression flat.

I shook my head, glancing hastily to my pack. It was getting full, but Alvor was my next stop, to see what he had in the yard that I might add.

Sigrid stood, picking up the leather that hadn't made the cut. "I'll put these away, and come out to see you off," she sighed to her nephew.

Hadvar nodded to her retreating form, then glanced at me. "You sure about this?" he asked. His eyebrows lifted, ever so slightly; a hint of concern, or even friendliness, pushing through his otherwise grim mask.

"Of course," I stood, smoothing away the creases on the front of my dress.

"It's your choice," he sighed. "Come on then," he leaned down, grabbed my pack and shouldered it with his own.

I opened my mouth to stop him, but he was half way across the room and reaching for the door handle. Frowning, I hurried forward, ducking around him with a bob as he held the door open for me.

The brusque morning breeze bit into my warmed cheeks and fluttered the apron-dress around my ankles. I clutched my arms around myself as our boots clapped loudly against the wooden floorboards toward the forge, keenly aware of Hadvar's presence directly behind me.

Far from having dismissed Dorthe's childish notions, I was shaken by the change to Hadvar's manner. Donning his armour had seemed to change him into a hardened Imperial Legionnaire, but even so; he had not been this distant when we had first met. His mind was clearly elsewhere; perhaps over what would await him in Solitude, or where he might be reassigned. Or perhaps he was worried about the dragon attacking Riverwood after he left? Far more likely.

Alvor was leaning over his workbench, shaping a piece of hide, but stood tall when we stopped by the forge. "From the looks on your faces, I take it that you're leaving?"

"Already?" Dorthe called out in dismay. I glanced around and spotted her sitting at the grind stone with a small, iron dagger before her.

I made an effort to smile as I turned back to the smith. "Very soon, yes."

"Celeste's taking a few of your pieces to Whiterun to sell, uncle," Hadvar offloaded my pack. "Is there anything out here you'd like her to take? Anything small? Her pack's nearly full."

"She's what?" Alvor seemed quietly shocked. His eyes settled on me in mute confusion.

My smile came easier this time. "It really would be my pleasure to do so. Your work is beautiful; I'm sure it'll fetch a decent price in the capital."

"I..." Alvor glanced around his forge uncertainly.

"What about the new silver work, papa?" Dorthe suggested. "That's very light-weight."

Alvor considered and then shrugged, and strode to a table on the far side with several completed pieces laid on it. He returned a moment later holding three pieces of jewellery.

"Will these do?" he held them out in his large palms, with a vulnerability to his tone. "They are my first attempts, but weigh less than leather. If you think you can sell them, you can take them."

I tried not to gape. Yes, Alvor most certainly did have the soul of an artist. Of the three finely-worked silver pendants, two were set with smoothed river stones, and I traced my fingertip over the etched design on the third, flatter piece.

"They're perfect," I glanced to Alvor with an appreciative smile.

"I didn't know you'd taken to silversmithing, uncle?" Hadvar peered over my shoulder as I held them up for him to see. "They're quite fine, aren't they? They should sell to the Whiterun crowd," he murmured.

I agreed as I knelt and secured them in the top of my pack. "They'll sell to any crowd. I have half a mind to buy them myself," I admitted. "Once I can access my account, that is," I added with an ironic tilt.

Alvor muttered something about spare time that I didn't catch, and seemed a little redder when I stood and gathered the straps together, swinging the heavy pack up onto my back with an 'oof!'

Hadvar's hands caught the pack, steadying it on my shoulders. When I turned to thank him, he had already stepped forward to his uncle, and held out his hand.

"I'll come home as soon as I'm granted leave," he said with a thickness to his throat.

Alvor's mouth flattened out, and he stepped forward, pulling his nephew into what looked like a bone-crushing hug. "Don't waste your leave, boy. We'll make do and you'll be home for good sooner."

I turned away, not wanting to intrude on their farewells, as Dorthe darted to her feet. Sigrid was hurrying along the verandah with her brow in knots.

I glanced out at the cool, grey day, wondering at the hour. The sun was hidden behind low, white clouds that filled the whole sky. Across the road, a hanging sign swung in the breeze, and a skinny woman wearing a yellow dress was sweeping the doorstep under it. It looked like the general store. I had planned to stop in there for clothes, but thanks to Sigrid, I no longer needed to.

"Here," she was beside me. I turned - glanced down. She was holding a paper-wrapped parcel out to me. "It's pie."

"Oh," I took it automatically, blinking in surprise. "Thank you. I didn't expect-"

"Enough," Sigrid waved her hand, then pulled me into a hug. "If you manage even half of what you've promised, you'll be doing us a great service. A bit of old pie is a weak form of compensation."

I smiled as she withdrew, and thanked her again. "You really don't mind if I stay a few nights, once I have petitioned the Jarl?"

Sigrid laughed. "Oh, we're counting on it, Celeste," there was a twinkle in her eye that I hadn't seen earlier. "We can't disappoint Dorthe, after all. I believe she has plans to share her room with you," she smirked, "to save you from Hadvar's room. Here, let me put the pie away for you," she took it again, and tucked it into a pocket on the side of my pack.

Bemused, I turned back to her when she stepped back. Her daughter appeared by her side, and the woman wrapped her arm around the girl, jostling her affectionately.

"Ready?" Hadvar spoke over my shoulder, appearing on my other side.

I regarded him with a frown. "Ready? Aren't we...going our separate ways?" Solitude and Whiterun were in opposite directions, and reached by different roads.

Hadvar pointed along the road north; the one I was to take. "I'll see you to the bridge on the edge of the village. The road forks there."

"Oh."

With a few more waves and farewells, Hadvar and I clopped down the stairs and left his home, and his family, behind us.

We walked in silence for a moment, bypassing the store and what must have been the village inn. I hazarded a few glances at the officer, uncertain of whether he wanted to talk about it - whatever it was. He was unusually withdrawn, and I yearned to make the air comfortable before we left one another.

As we passed under the tall, open gateway marking the boundary of Riverwood, I bumped his arm with my shoulder.

"Are you okay?" I asked, smiling encouragingly.

Hadvar cast me a sideways smirk. "I'm fine," he replied evenly, which plainly told me that he was not. "And you?"

"And I what?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes – yes, I'm okay," I faltered, glancing to the road ahead. That hadn't worked. With a shaky sigh, I went for the direct approach. "It feels like you're...upset, that's all."

After a brief pause, he responded.

"As it happens," Hadvar admitted quietly, "I spoke the truth before. I don't like goodbyes."

Well - that made sense. Nobody liked leaving those they cared for. I had moped whenever father had been called away on Thane business for the High King.

"Better than not saying goodbye," I murmured as the realisation chilled me. "Better than not knowing you needed to..."

My throat grew thick; I glanced ahead, cursing myself. Everything isn't always about you and your grief, Celeste.

I felt Hadvar's eyes on me, searching, but couldn't meet them.

"Sorry," I cleared my throat, attempting a laugh to dispel the gloom. "Is that the bridge you were talking about?"

Hadvar didn't respond right away. "Yes. That's it."

Suddenly for his sake, as well as my own, I was determined to be bright. "When you think about it," I began conversationally. "A goodbye is a happy thing. It lets you show those you love how much you will miss them. Then," I babbled, "you travel with hope, and anticipation of your next meeting."

Hadvar's melancholy seemed unshakable. "And what if there is no reunion? What if this goodbye is the last?"

I met his gaze and faltered; our farewell was imminent. I wasn't certain anymore if he was upset about leaving his family, or worried about something else.

"Nobody knows when their last goodbye will be."

Hadvar huffed a humourless laugh at the road, kicking a pebble in his way as we reached the bridge. "I suppose you're right," he conceded.

My resolve to drag him out of his sorrow hardened. Our boots hammered out an uneven beat along the stone bridge, and - I knew what to do.

"We drink to our youth, to days come and gone. For the age of aggression is just about done," I sang jauntily, as though this was not a song about war. The simple rhyming pattern of Age of Aggression allowed it to be easily updated with a word here or there to suit current events.

"You're not making this any easier," Hadvar's dry tone told me he thought I was mad.

I swung my pack down to rest on the side of the bridge and turned to him, smiling. "We'll drive out the Stormcloaks and restore what we own. With our blood and our steel we'll take back our home," I offered my hand, curtsying as though the song was an elegant dance, not a bawdy tune sung in taverns Skyrim-wide.

"Celeste," Hadvar cautioned, a flicker of uncertainty about him; I kept my hand where it was and raised my eyebrows in challenge.

His eyes narrowed, but he relented. The moment he placed his hand in mine, I sang again, and louder. "Down with Ulfric the killer of kings. On the day of your death we'll drink and we'll sing!" I spun.

A smile tugged at his lips; "You'll bring the whole town down to the bridge if you keep this up."

"I don't care," I owned in a lofty tone. "If this is to be our forever goodbye, then it will be a happy one."

Finally, he laughed, and held up his arm; my smile broadened and I twirled underneath. On my return he caught my waist, so I settled a hand on his shoulder with a flourish as though we were waltzing in the Emperor's ballroom.

"We're the children of Skyrim, and we fight all our lives, and when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us..." I drifted off, swaying to a stop. My chest swelled when Hadvar met my eye, for his smile had reached his lovely grey depths.

His eyes are so beautiful.

Hadvar squeezed my hand. "That was...unexpected."

"That's what music is, sometimes," I blinked to stop from staring and huffed; I'd puffed myself out with all my spinning and cavorting. "Entirely unexpected," I squeezed back and grinned.

Hadvar laughed soundlessly with a rush of air. "Then you are the embodiment of music, the way you have danced into my life."

There was no ignoring his affection, not while we were standing here in each others arms. His quietly astonished words reached me like a song; tickled me; threatened to burst out as a childish giggle. Gratefully, the comfort of singing after so long, and the joy of dancing on this cool, cloudy morning with this kind soul settled my response.

"Likewise," I breathed with a warm smile.

He seemed cheerfully perplexed; he crossed his brows and laughed once more. Detangling our hands, he brushed the hair covering my cheek back behind my ear.

"May I..." he faltered. He swallowed uncertainly then leant down, glancing to my mouth before meeting my eyes again. "Check something?" he whispered.

I nodded, transfixed by the faraway look in his eyes. My heart hammered a wild beat of anticipation and blood surged through my veins, blazing and so alive.

With the slightest hesitation, he pressed his lips to mine.

They were soft and warm, and feather-light; a kiss asking for nothing but permission. A warm, bright relief filled me as the scents of leather and soap and stewed apples encircled me.

His fingers curled in my hair and his hold on my waist faltered. Hands flexed, grasped tentatively, then released; he was holding back.

Too soon, the hand on my waist tightened again, and he withdrew.

"Gods," his voice was thick and his eyes remained closed. He cleared his throat and shook his head. "I shouldn't have done that."

In a flash of dismay, I thought he regretted kissing me, but when his hold tightened, I smiled, giddy with relief. "Oh, I don't know," I hushed, made bold by the glow pounding in my chest. "It wasn't all bad," I joked.

His eyes shot open, surprised, in time to see me lean up on the toes of my boots. I kissed him, slow and full of longing; an unequivocal reply to the question his cautious kiss had asked. If this was to be farewell, then I would have him remember me by this kiss. It was goodbye, but not forever, conveying my hope for our reunion.

When I wound my arms around his neck it pulled a soft, yearning growl from deep within his throat; a thrill trembled through me as he ducked a little and tightened his grip, tilting his head to deepen our embrace.

This attachment; it made no sense, but perhaps it didn't need to. We had barely known each other for a day, yet here we were, clinging to one another as the world spun by, desperate for answers to these reeling uncertainties about a future we might never live to see.

I might ponder the good sense of kissing a man whose surname I didn't know afterwards; try to convince myself it was borne of fear and uncertainty, or of being thrown together in strange and terrifying circumstances. Every grasp of his hands and shudder in his chest resonated within me like the beat of a drum, and caught in the moment, my heart blazed and my thoughts centred on a single truth; this is home.

With a groan from deep within his chest that I felt as a rumble against my own, Hadvar withdrew. His hands flexed on my hips and he stared down in exasperation; his eyes dark with longing, more stormy than I had ever perceived them. "You kiss me like that," he managed, "and expect me to walk away from you?"

I knew he had said something, but his lips; pinker and fuller and parted as he caught his breath, captured my attention.

"Hadvar," I had to shake myself to stop from staring at his mouth to respond. His eyes darkened when I said his name, and for a moment I thought he was going to kiss me again. I wanted him to kiss me again.

But behind his yearning was questions that needed words. I sighed, my heart hammering as I made myself speak. "Would you have preferred to just...walk away?"

Hadvar closed his eyes and made a frustrated sound as he pulled me in close.

"I do have to walk away, but now..." he cursed. "Damn this war! I can't just - you don't deserve this."

I could not walk away from him forever. I wanted this, whatever this was. I relaxed against his chest, brushed my palms up to settle on his broad shoulders, and closed my eyes. He felt, somehow smelled like home. I could hear, feel the thump-thump of his heart through his armour. Had we truly only known each other for a day?

"Will you still write to me?" I asked softly; being this close called for a more intimate tone. "After you've talked to the Legion about Helgen?"

I felt him nod; felt his arms adjust to circle me better. "Of course I will," he hushed.

"Then, why don't we...keep writing to one another?" I proposed. "If you have time, that is."

Hadvar tensed, and I lifted my head.

His eyes were on the bridge, but it seemed he truly looked at nothing. Despite the pull to remain in his arms, I leaned back further, to see him better.

He glanced down and sighed heavily. "I will make the time," he resolved with a small, sad smile.

I eased back and nodded encouragingly. "Then we will write, until we meet again."

Hadvar turned and leaned down to retrieve his pack, and I did the same, slinging it up. I felt - shaky, almost, and suddenly worried I had made a fool of myself. He had not seemed that happy about the idea of writing to one another.

He adjusted his pack then approached, reaching out to help me settle mine so the straps rested evenly on my shoulders. His eyes drifted to mine when we were ready, and his hand stroked my cheek fleetingly. The gentle movement; the warmth in his beautiful grey eyes laid my concerns to rest.

"I wish I could promise you something - anything," he murmured.

I made myself smile and arched an eyebrow. "Just write to me. I'm not asking for any other...promises."

He nodded, glancing away, then motioned toward the bridge.

I fell into step beside him, and stared down to the bricks and cobbles in wonder. Our moment was over, brief and bright and dream-like, and now...

We walked in uncertain silence, stopping only when we reached the crossroads and faced one another.

"This is it," Hadvar spoke with false cheer. "Until the next dragon falls from the sky, Celeste Passero," he bowed his head.

"One thing, before you go," I remembered. I flushed when he met my gaze with his curious one.

I tried to hold my laughter in. "When I write, who do I address the letter to?"

Hadvar seemed confused and my laughter bubbled out of me; he was going to make me ask it.

"I...don't know your family name," I admitted with a flush, lowering my eyes hastily to grin at the earth instead.

Hadvar laughed then, finally understanding.

His hand was on my chin; encouraging me to look up again. The laughter reached his eyes, and his cheeks were as flushed as mine felt. "Reidarsson," he flashed me a cheeky, lopsided smile.

"Hadvar Reidarsson," I tested, nodding in mock greeting as Hadvar lowered his hand. "It has been a pleasure to meet you."

Unable to contain ourselves any longer, we shared a laugh before we parted, turning to our separate roads. We took them; our goodbye not one of sadness, but of relaxed, mutual fondness.

A/n: apologies for the delay; my NaNo efforts consumed my writing time last month, then December rolled around and Celeste was there, beating against the (metaphorical) door demanding that I continue her story. She reminds me of Sarina (from TTLS) of course, but has this bold, demanding wilfulness that her ancestor didn't possess (that I like to believe is indicative of Martin, or the Septims in general, since she is their descendant as well). I wanted her out of Riverwood early this chapter, and in Whiterun, but the little brat insisted we remain in Riverwood and then she went and burst into song, and Hadvar fast-forwarded my plans for them and made everything that needs to happen all the more complicated. Don't you love it when your characters make you rework all your carefully laid-out plans?
As an aside, Reidar is an Old Norse name that means 'nest, home' and 'warrior'. I took the artistic liberty of naming Hadvar's father Reidar, making Hadvar Reidarsson. Given his (headcanon) penchant for reading/writing, it makes me happy to name him this, too, as it literally sounds like 'reader son'.