Asta sent a glance at Ralof as they moved through the winding tunnels below what had been Helgen. He was slightly ahead of the group, the two of them scouting ahead for further threats. These tunnels seemed to go on forever. They had already encountered a lone Draugr female and a nest of frost spiders, Asta could only imagine what would be next. She threw a glance backwards, to the last two members of their group, just in time to see Hadvar lift Wren down a particularly high ledge. The sight made her even surer of the man's good intentions, though it also highlighted the small stature of the girl in his arms. She shook her head, clearing the thoughts as much as possible, ruefully acknowledging that the mechanics of their encounter were none of her business. She grinned as Hadvar took Wren's tiny hand in his and led her after them.

"Ahem"

A throat clearing in front of her had Asta whipping her head back round to face Ralof. He looked like he'd just caught a child stealing his sweet rolls. She cringed, realising she'd been discovered as she watched the adorable couple. She smiled sheepishly, looking up at the Stormcloak.

"Leave them be." He said with a grin, motioning her forward. They carried on along the tunnels. Asta was deep in thought as they continued walking, Ralof keeping an eye out for more threats to their little party.

"I need to talk to Hadvar." She blurted out suddenly, looking up as Ralof turned to look at her, surprise written across his face. "I was speaking to Wren before I was shot," she rubbed the spot on her shoulder gingerly, as though she expected the arrow to be there still, "he needs to know what she told me. Even though she would probably be embarrassed if I told him, he deserves to know that it's not all the potion. He seems so honourable. I can't imagine him being ok with the idea that he might be taking advantage of Wren." Ralof looked sceptical.

"How old is she anyway? If I was just going by her height I'd have said a 14 year old Nord." He frowned at this. "She's older than 14 right?"

"Yes. She's 19 years. Next year will be her 20th summer. I know. She doesn't look it." She continued when Ralof raised an eyebrow at her. "Although, in fairness, that is mostly just her height. If you look at her face, and her eyes especially, she definitely looks older than 14." Ralof nodded sagely, before grinning mischievously.

"These help tell the difference as well I suppose." He said, chuckling as he raised both of his hands up to his chest and made a sort of cupping, jiggling motion that was pretty much universally recognised. Asta gasped and slapped the arm that was closest to her, but Ralof could tell she was more amused than offended as he rubbed his arm. That had hurt. She sure packed a wallop. He grinned as she moved ahead of him, watching the feisty female scout ahead of their group. Keeping his axe at the ready for whatever threat popped up next, he threw a glance back at the pair behind him. They were making progress though the tunnels as quickly as possible but Ralof could tell that the little Breton was struggling somewhat with the terrain. Chances were her stilted, awkward movements were residual issues from being beaten and tortured by a wide variety of adversaries, yet another reason not to trust the Imperials. What were they thinking? She wasn't even a Nord. How could she possibly be a Stormcloak?

Ralof knew that Ulfric could be very decisive in his…uh…disrespect for the other races. He didn't personally agree with the stance of his leader, but he'd grown up listening to stories of the Great Talos. Had marvelled over his adventures along with all the other children in the tiny village. Those stories, the legends that surrounded the figure of Talos as he rose from a man, the same as any other lowly man, to a God, taking his place among the Nine, had inspired him all his life. Had led him along his path to become a soldier. Before the White-Gold Concordant had come in to effect he had wanted to join the Imperial Army, to fight for his country. Or maybe become a guard for his Jarl, to help keep the people in his hold, in their homes and farms, safe from the dangers that roamed the beautiful but harsh landscape of his homeland. He'd be dead and buried before he let some fucking elf, with their massively superior attitude, dictate who HE worshiped.

It had been a terrible blow when he found out that the Army of the Empire would not only be supporting the elves in their quest to eradicate Talos from the country's formal religion, but would be allowing them to come in to their lands. Allowing them to search out any remnants of Talos, to interrogate those who continued in their belief and to execute them. The Imperial scum were helping those dirty elves to round up and execute his people. Hadvar, his childhood friend, was helping them round up and execute his people. How? How could he sit back and watch as citizens of Skyrim were slaughtered by soldiers and elves?

Ralof could feel the familiar anger rising in his chest as he thought on the betrayal of his former friend. More than anger, deeper than the rage, disappointment and hurt filled his heart, coursing through his veins. How was it possible that his childhood friend could stoop so low? Couldn't he see the pain caused by the Altmer? Gangs of the sick fucks roamed the land, accusing people of Talos worship and executing them on the spot. Where was the justice in that? Where was the trial? What happened to innocent till proven guilty?

He didn't understand why Hadvar would continue to fight for the Imperials if he knew all about that. The questions played on a loop in his head. How could he know? How could he not know? When would it stop? He couldn't shut it out, and he wanted to give his old friend the benefit of the doubt, but knew they'd have to at least talk about it at some point, and then where would they be. Back on opposite sides, unable to move past the conflict that was ripping through their home. Honestly, it made him want to cry. To go back to Riverwood, and hide in his home, chopping wood and hunting till it all blew over. But his pride wouldn't let him. If he wasn't prepared to stand up for a Nord's right to worship whoever-the-fuck they wanted, then who would?

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They'd gone the wrong way. Again. This maze of tunnels and endless rock was wearing on Hadvar's last nerve. Thinking that Helgen was built on a hill, they had decided to head downwards when the path split in two. Recognising that the curved, down hill path must have been crafted by humans at some point, they surmised that it might lead to an exit. The rock itself was slippery, the mist from the waterfall coating the surface and, in places, helping the growth of moss and algae. The thin coating of slime made it difficult for the party to keep their footing and each member of the party had felt their heart beat rise dramatically as they slid, uncontrolled and waving their arms furiously, either further down the steep slope or, worse, closer to the edge and a drop off the side in to the seething water below.

They'd all made it to the base of the waterfall without serious issue, bar a few bruised egos and even more bruised arses, but when Hadvar looked back at Wren he could see that the journey was taking it's toll on her. She hadn't uttered a word since their interlude before, and that was wearing on Hadvar more than anything else. He knew they would get out of here eventually, even if they had to backtrack and dig their way out of a ruined Helgen…

That thought led him all the way back round to the Dragon. Had it finished with Helgen? Was anyone alive? Where would it go next? Was his family safe in Riverwood? What would happen to Wren when they got out of here? Once the effects of the potion had dissipated? Would she want anything to do with him after…all this? Could she ever forgive him? He tortured himself with the last question over and over in his head as they walked. Even if she could have come to like him before all this occurred, if they met as civilians, and he'd somehow raised the courage to talk to her, maybe even to court her, how could they possibly have that now? How could they even think of moving past the circumstances of their meeting? HE was having trouble with the dubious nature of her consent, so surely it had to be worse for HER. Forced to rely on an almost stranger, whom she'd met that day, to bring her pleasure. To be so intimate with someone you hardly knew. Could she ever forgive him for the liberties he took?

He glanced over at her, unable to help himself from checking in with her every few moments. Nothing could keep his gaze away for long. She was sat on the ground near a wooden chest, watching as Asta picked the locks. They had decided to rest here for a short time, knowing that the climb back up would be hard work. The slippery flooring had caused enough trouble on the way down, let alone when they struggled their way back to the top. Her breathing wasn't laboured and her eyes were clear and bright as she shyly joked with the woman who had clearly become a friend. As he watched her, behind his eyes, their interlude played on repeat, over and over he saw her arch in to his hands, writhing for his touch, her sweet voice gasping in his ear as his fingers bought her to her peak.

A vicious curse brought him back to reality, and he focused on Wren instantly, constantly needing to know she was safe.

He could see the problem straight away, the lock pick had shattered in Asta's hands, slicing open her index finger. It wasn't bleeding much, but it was on her sword hand and might hinder her in a fight. The soldier was clutching her hand to her chest, shielding her fingers from the world as she stumbled away from the chest. Before he could act, Wren had scrambled from the ground, following her friend. Hadvar was surprised to see a pale golden glow surrounding one of her hands. He knew she had magic, she was a Breton after all, but she had never shown any intent to use it…had she? He thought back to the Imperial soldier Ralof had run through, it seemed like days ago now, was her magic involved in that? Why was she so scared if she was able to protect herself like that? Asta didn't look surprised to see her new friend performing magic. Wasn't it called Healing Hands when you healed someone other than yourself? The healers he'd been around in the army had all claimed it was one of the more advanced spells, one that it could take years to learn. She may not have looked surprised but Asta did seem to be trying to convince Wren not to heal her. What was that about?

He glanced at Ralof, who had been looking at the gate mechanism to see if they could get it to rise, so that the small group could follow the stream out of the mountain if possible. He didn't look surprised by this show of magic, though he did look uncomfortable.

He watched as Wren took Asta's hands in her own, gently pulling them towards her. It was strange that she didn't seem half as shy when it came to helping her new friend. Her eyes were soft and just a little worried, but there was no fear and Hadvar couldn't help but be drawn in. If only he could get her to trust him the same way. His heart sank, believing his chances had been scuppered by their unusual circumstances.

Looking at the floor he didn't see Ralof beckon Wren over to where he was working to open the stubborn chest, hoping there might be a key, or a map, or even a couple of potions if they were lucky. Asta used the opportunity, while they were resting to wander over to Hadvar. It was time to have a chat.