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Chapter Text

The week passed in agony. Hadvar and Ralof’s home, now just half inhabited, was colder than it ever had been. In the week of mostly isolation, Hadvar had decided that it was time to stand up for what he believed in. Ralof was wrong. Skyrim had saved Hadvar. Given him refuge and safety during the summers of his youth and even more so since he had settled there.

 His father had been an Imperial, but his mother was a strong Nord woman who had always looked out of place in the south. Her pale features, her stubborn nature, and her dislike of the warm weather set her apart from everyone he’d known in the Imperial City. When he was a young teen, she started sending him to stay with Alvor, her brother, for the summers. He had quickly fallen head over heels for Skyrim, and for the local blond troublemaking rascal. Ralof was the one who didn’t understand; Skyrim was as much his home as anyone else’s.

 And Hadvar would be godsdamned if he didn’t fight for her. He was headed for Solitude in the morning to join the Imperial army. As much grief as he felt for his relationship with Ralof, the one person who knew him better than anyone ever had, the decision to go to Solitude had settled his heart and he knew it was the right choice. 

 He got out of the bed he’d spent so much time in over the past several days, dressed, and readied himself for a walk to the inn. He strapped his sword to his belt, always a good practice when leaving the house in such a small, unprotected village. The hilt caught his eye and his thoughts, engraved with his father’s personal insignia. He gazed down at the little carved bear with rubies for eyes, frozen in a roar. Despite their current status, he couldn’t help but think of Ralof calling him snowbear and how much he would miss the moniker. 

 Tonight was his last night in Riverwood for a long while. He would stop in the inn for one last ale and hopefully nobody would bother him. It was a short walk and the longer he breathed the fresh air the better he felt. But the good feeling didn’t last; the first thing he saw upon entering the inn was blue. Men and women dressed in Stormcloak color filled the bulk of the inn and Hadvar cursed his own stupidity. Ralof had told him that the unit would be here in a week. As he scanned the faces, he went pale, for there was his former lover, dressed and ready for Windhelm. His gaze lingered a moment too long and Ralof met it.

 Perhaps emboldened by his new comrades, Ralof deigned to approach. “Where are you going?” Hadvar might’ve imagined it, but for a second, there appeared a spark of hope in his eyes. 
 Hadvar shifted uneasily. He knew if they tried to start a fight, Orgnar would have their heads. But Ralof deserved the truth. “Solitude,” he said. His voice was quiet, but he stood up straight, confident in his choice. 

 Disgust and shock flashed across Ralof’s face in equal measure. “You can’t be serious. You’re so mad at me that you’re going to go die for those elf pigs?” Ralof spat at him.

 Hadvar felt his face twist into a grimace. “Don't be daft. You do whatever you think is right and leave me to do the same. Go help Ulfric rip apart this country you say you love so much.” He knew it was cruel, but the words had come out before he could stop them. How dare Ralof accuse him of being so small and petty? He knew he shouldn’t have called the man daft though, that always set him off. 

 Sure enough, Ralof turned red as a tomato and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “How dare you!” The other Stormcloaks surrounding him drew their swords, staring at him menacingly.

 He stepped back toward the door. Orgnar was heading over. But Hadvar couldn’t let it rest. “What, are you going to draw on me, Ralof? And what then? Are you and your little friends going to kill me? Coward,” he bit back at the person he loved most in the world. Ralof gave a shout and drew his sword, pointing it at Hadvar but not moving toward him. 

 Hadvar began to turn toward the door but stopped as he remembered an old Skyrim custom Ralof had told him about months back. If a man appears to challenge you, give him your weapon. If he gives it back, you’ll need it. If he doesn’t, you’ll have peace. It had seemed foolish at the time. What reason was there to surrender your means of defending yourself to someone who could use it against you? Why make yourself vulnerable in the midst of conflict? Nords and their honor. 

 But Ralof had pointed a weapon at him. A sharp iron sword that hadn’t tasted blood in years, pointed at him by his former lover. Before he could see reason and stop himself, he had whipped back around, unsheathed his sword, and threw it at Ralof’s feet. There was a great clattering noise and then silence for several seconds. Hadvar turned for good this time, stormed out, and slammed the door behind him. He heard Orgnar yelling at the Stormcloaks in there for causing a ruckus, and Delphine followed Hadvar into the empty street. 

 “Slam my door like that again and you’ll regret it,” she said flatly, pulling rolled tobacco from her pocket. Hadvar stood still in the road with his gaze firmly fixed on the river that had not yet frozen, breathing heavily. She walked up next to him and handed him a smoke. Matches were produced from a different pocket and she lit his first and then her own. 

Hadvar took a long drag before saying, “Sorry about the door.”

“I’ll put it on your tab.” 

And they stood there a while longer in a heavy but not uncomfortable silence. “I’m leaving tomorrow. Heading to Solitude,” he said finally.

“You and Ralof splitting for good then?”

Hadvar nodded, noting the prickle of tears welling in his eyes. He steeled himself only because he didn’t want them to freeze to his face. 

“But you’re going to Solitude for you, right?” she asked. If he didn’t know better he would think she cared for him, just a little.

He nodded again. “Feels right. Not perfect, but when you see the bigger picture of it all. . . it’s the right answer.” 

Delphine ground the remains of her tobacco into the ground under her boot. “Don’t die out there.”

Hadvar offered her a smile. “Thanks Delphine. Really. I’ll be fine.” 

She turned and went back inside, where things had calmed considerably, letting the laughter and song drift out into the street for a brief moment. 

Hadvar took a deep breath, more certain than ever that he was on the right path. Ralof never returned his sword, so Hadvar decided he was better off without it. He was always better with a bow anyway.