Sundas, 17th of Last Seed 4E201 Late Afternoon

Ralof

I have a problem, a voice in my head slurs as I look into my flagon of mead. Empty. Another voice slurs, Yes, the problem is that my cup is empty. "Orgnar. Another pint."

"You sure about that pal? You're already three pints in."

I slam my cup onto the bar, perhaps harder than intended. "Are you the barkeep, or my mother? I don't see any tits on you, so fill the damn cup! If you'd seen what I'd seen this day, you'd be looking for Oblivion in the bottom of a cup as well!"

If my outburst phased the man at all, his apathetic face sure doesn't betray it as he takes my cup to the tap. "Fine. But don't blame me when you throw your septims up later outside." As he returns the full cup to me, he asks, "And what was so terrifying that it'd cause such a fine soldier as yourself to drink mead like water?"

"A dragon, you old goat!" Damn my drunken mouth, I spit it out without thinking. This at least seems to startle the stoic barkeep. His eyes widen, and I notice old Delphine stop sweeping and stiffen as well.

"A dragon, eh?" Orgnar scratches his stuffy beard. "Sure you were sober when you walked in here?"

Before I can retort, the last voice I want to hear sounds from behind me. "He's telling the truth." Bloody Hadvar. Of course. He walks in, sitting at the other end of the bar. "A gods-honest dragon appeared at Helgen. The town's little more than a pile of rubble now.

Of course, the bastards believe him immediately. I suppose an Imperial uniform gives you credibility regardless of the claim. I see Delphine turn white and dash into a sideroom, and Orgnar offers Hadvar a drink.

"Honningbrew," Hadvar responds.

"Pah, why not just order a mug of milk if you've not the stomach for a real drink." The insult has both men bristling, and I take my drink and myself to a nearby table. The stumble might have taken some of the bite away, but damned if I'll sit in the company of damned traitors.

The tavern is mercifully empty as I nurse my Black-Briar Reserve in silence. Though I know it won't last, this close to evening. It was unseasonably warm, and you could count on the locals whetting their parched throats with a mug or two after they finish their day's work. For some reason, it reminded me of my time with the Stormcloaks. We trained under a bastard of a man called Galmar Stone-Fist. Every day we trained damn near nonstop from dawn to dusk. And every day, he made sure we trained hardest when the sun was highest. Sad we'd need to be ready to fight at any time; "Your enemy won't care if you're too hot to put your shield between you and them." Spent weeks constantly exhausted before I got used to it.

Yet for all that, it seems old habits die hard. One measly dragon attack and I fall back into old patterns. It's familiar. And calming. Then someone drops on the bench beside me, interrupting the calming familiarity of my drink. "By Talos, can't you tell when a man wants to enjoy his drink alone?"

"You don't look like you're enjoying much of anything right now." Godsdamned Hadvar. Never learned to shut his mouth for anything. "The Ralof I used to know would've been blustering on about his escape from near-certain death. Regaling his story to everyone in town."

"What do you want, Imperial?"

He pauses a moment. "Company."

I scoff, but since he seems subdued now, I go back to my mug. A few moment pass in silence, the first few villagers starting to trickle in from their mills and fields. Amazing how careless they seem; even without knowing about the dragon, it's as if the sleepy town has been unaffected by the war. A bloody war, right under their noses. Blessing there, else someone might have called the Imperials to clap me in irons again. How easy it might be, just to stay here and resume the simple life I led before I enlisted under Ulfric.

"I don't hate you, you know?" It took me a second to realize Hadvar was speaking to me. The look on his face almost seems... Wistful? "For joining the rebels... Sorry, the Stormcloaks."

"What are you on about?"

He chews on his words before speaking again. "I know you probably despise me for joining the Legion. Expected me to defect once Ulfric's call went out. But I don't hate you for becoming a Stormcloak. You followed your heart and you went out to make a change. Hell, maybe I even envy you. I was always content to follow orders. Even as lads, you'd be the one making up the adventures we acted out."

Had I drunk anymore than I had already, I'd have assumed I was hallucinating. Unfortunately, I was sober enough to consider his words. A few hours ago - was it only hours? - we'd been set to tear out each others' throats. But was it truly because we hated each other?

"If you had asked me this morning," I said, "what I thought of my old childhood friend Hadvar, I would have made Talos himself blush with the obscenities to pass my lips. I considered every Imperial godless bastards, guilty of allowing or helping the damn Thalmor of every crime they committed. Hadvar's grip tightens on his mug, and I watch his face steel up.

"But... Now I remember... Or you just reminded... You're all people, same as me. You helped save all those townsfolk from that great black beast. You joined the legion to try to change things, no different than I. And you'd be an even greater traitor by betraying the oaths to your cause solely because of your cowardly commanders." I grin at Hadvar. "Come now, if I truly wanted you dead, I'd have let that dragon carry you away this morning."

I must have surprised him, as he takes a moment to retort. "And here I though you were just saving Talao and I was in the way."

"Might have helped." We chuckle together, and just like that, it's as if we are young again, sharing a mug. Only now the ale isn't snuck out from under our parents' noses. And for the next few hours, we forget that we might find each other opposite our blades on the field of battle soon.