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thana-topsy · 1 year

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Twenty-Two

Hadvar and Ralof have to work together to escape Helgen. [Read it on AO3]

[Part 1] [Part 2]

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He read the name from the list:

“Ralof of Riverwood.”

The words felt unreal leaving his mouth, as if spoken by someone else. The moment he had seen Ralof on the cart, the blood had drained from his face and the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. No, gods. Not like this. He had been prepared to meet Ralof in battle, perhaps even to die by his sword. But not like this…

Hadvar looked up to meet Ralof’s eyes, wondering what he might see—fury, anger, regret? He wasn’t prepared to see righteous determination. A man proudly and willingly facing his own death. And for what? Hadvar wanted to lunge forward and grab him by the shoulders, shake him. ‘Why!?’ he wanted to scream at the man he once called his best friend. ‘Why would you throw your life away for a traitor!?’

But he stood still, frozen in place, quill in hand poised to check the name off his list. Ralof lifted his chin and looked away, turning to walk towards the headsman. One hundred words rose and died behind Hadvar’s teeth. He cleared his throat and called the next name.

—

The shriek of the dragon’s shout faded as Hadvar shoved his shoulder against the door of the fort, barring it with shaking hands. He fell back against the wood, breathing heavily, sweat stinging his eyes. He could smell his own singed hair, his right arm pulsing hot with burns. How had things gone from bad to worse to catastrophic, all within twenty minutes.

This was a nightmare. The work of Vaermina.

Hadvar wanted to wake up.

He took a moment to gather his wits, the world spinning dizzily around him. A dragon had attacked Helgen. A dragon. A creature so powerful that it could warp reality with a single word. How was he supposed to live in a world where dragons roamed the skies? The civil war suddenly seemed so small and pointless.

The fort shuddered around him, loose rocks falling from the walls and ceiling.

He smacked his own face then beat a fist against his chest with a growl. “Think, Hadvar, think!” Scour the fort for resources; create an exit plan.

The fort had three exits, but they all led back out into the chaos. He could sit in the fort and wait for the dragon to leave on its own, but the idea made him feel like a coward. That, and as the fort shook with another rumble, the survival rate of that plan seemed slim to none. He glanced around the room—the barracks—and walked over to the first chest he saw, kicking it open. Spare uniforms. A bit of loose gold. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. He had his sword and his own two feet. He needed to move.

He jogged from the barracks and into the adjoining chamber, running headfirst into two Stormcloak soldiers.

There was an awkward pause in which the three of them simply stared at each other, then Hadvar took a stumbling step backwards, throwing his hands up in placation. “Wait, wait, don’t attack! Let’s just—”

One of the soldiers let out a bellowing warcry, drawing his sword and sprinting towards Hadvar.

His reaction was automatic, drilled into him from hours of training in the Solitude courtyards. He spun to avoid the attack while unsheathing his sword, then used the momentum to bring the sword down on the back of the man’s neck. It wasn’t a clean strike, but Hadvar felt the reverberation of the soldier’s spine cracking, blood arcing across his sword and knuckles.

The soldier’s companion was already on him before he had time to recover, and he barely caught the downswing of her sword against his own. He threw her off balance with the force of his block and seized the opportunity to drive his sword into her chest, aiming for her heart. A quick death is a merciful death, came Captain Aldis’ voice in the back of his mind.

The soldier looked into his eyes, her expression fearful, disbelieving. I’m sorry, he thought, but his jaw was clenched tight around the words. She coughed once, blood bubbling from her lips, then slid from his blade to the floor.

It was over in a blink. Hadvar’s breathing was ragged, his heart pounding in his ears. He could hear the roar of the dragon outside as the fort shook around him. He had to get out, had to—

Another Stormcloak came jogging into the room. He looked down at the bodies on the floor, then to Hadvar as he readied his weapon.

It was Ralof.

All of the fight left Hadvar’s body like a candle extinguished in the wind, and he dropped his sword, dropping to his knees immediately after. “Ruh—” He couldn’t even say his name.

Ralof was staring at him with unbridled rage in his eyes. Hadvar half-hoped he’d kill him.

“I tried—” Hadvar began, throat dry. “I tried to reason…”

Ralof stared at him a moment longer, sword still at the ready, his lip drawn into a snarl. Finally, he spat on the ground, but sheathed his sword. “Aye,” he growled. “I heard as much.” He walked over and extended an arm, and Hadvar let himself be pulled to his feet. “Where was that mercy when you were sending me to the block, eh?”

“Those weren’t my orders,” Hadvar argued breathlessly, but it felt like a sorry excuse even to his own ears.

“No, ‘course not,” Ralof grumbled. “Just doing whatever those Imperial dogs tell you to do, right?”

“Please, let’s not. We need to get out of here before the fort comes down around us. War be damned, that was a dragon, Ralof. A gods-damned dragon.”

Ralof was looking into the middle distance, eyes unfocused. “Aye,” he said. “Never in my wildest dreams…”

Hadvar took a moment to study his face. They hadn’t seen each other in over three years, and their last encounter had ended in an explosive argument that came to blows. Hadvar had walked away with a swollen and blackened eye, though he’d managed to break Ralof’s nose. He could see even now where it hadn’t quite healed right.

“This fort will be swarming with Imperial soldiers,” Hadvar said. “We need to get you something different to wear. I found spare armor in the barracks—”

Ralof snarled at him. “I’ll be damned to Oblivion before I don Imperial armor!”

“Think, Ralof! Forget your stubborn loyalties and think!” Hadvar took him by the shoulders. “Let’s get out of Helgen alive, first, yeah?”

The fort shook again, as if to remind them. Ralof’s scowl remained, but he nodded with a single jerk of his head. He glanced down at the bodies of his fallen comrades. “It pains me to leave them here. They deserve proper burials.”

“If there’s anything left of the fort after this, I’ll see to it,” Hadvar promised. It was an empty promise, really, but a part of him genuinely wanted to keep it.

They returned briefly to the barracks to exchange Ralof’s armor for that of an Imperial set, then made their way deeper into the fort. They encountered only a handful of other soldiers making their way through the fort, and, to Hadvar’s relief, none of them even spared Ralof a second glance.

“Up ahead!” one shouted from the group down the hall. “There should be an exit that’ll put us out near the main gates.”

Hadvar and Ralof jogged to catch up, but a massive CRACK shook the fort. Ralof lunged in front, throwing his arm in front of Hadvar to stop him right as the ceiling began to collapse. He turned and threw himself against Hadvar, toppling both of them to the ground and out of the way of the falling rubble. They coughed as the dust settled, and Hadvar felt his stomach twist at the sight of the blocked tunnel.

“Guess we’ll have to find another way out,” he said.

Ralof sighed, dusting off his skinned knees as he got to his feet. “Why in the name of Talos do you Imperials fight without breeches!?”

Hadvar let out a startled laugh, once more allowing Ralof to pull him to his feet. “That much we can agree upon, old friend.”

“Easy, Hadvar,” Ralof warned, stepping away. “We are not friends. Not anymore.”

Hadvar’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest, and he clenched and unclenched his fists. “This way,” he said, beckoning Ralof to follow. “Hopefully there’s an exit further down.”

They did not find an exit, but instead found a torture chamber.

“Troll’s blood…” Ralof cursed under his breath. He turned slowly to look at Hadvar, rage clouding his features. “Hadvar… what in Oblivion is this?”

Hadvar was just as speechless, his eyes scanning the room. He knew these rooms existed, dappled across Skyrim in various forts. But beneath Helgen? “I—”

“Ah, did you boys come to watch or to help?” came a soft, wry voice. A man stepped out from behind a pillar, his dark eyes nearly black beneath his low hood. “Afraid we’re a little light on prisoners at the moment.”

“There’s a dragon attacking Helgen!” Hadvar blurted. “We have to get out of here!”

“Dragon?” the man repeated, sounding bored and dismissive. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m telling the truth! We have to leave before it brings the fort down on our heads.” His gaze jerked to a body slumped in one of the cages. “Gods…”

“Oh him?” said the torturer, turning to look. “Don’t bother. Lost the key ages ago. He screamed for almost a full week before finally going silent.”

Ralof let out a bellow of rage, drawing his sword and charging the man. The torturer barely had time to look surprised before Ralof had buried his sword in his chest. He pulled back and shoved the man off his blade with a kick of his boot, spitting on the body before whirling on Hadvar.

“These your men, Hadvar!?” he yelled. “Is this who you’re fighting alongside!?”

“I don’t associate with that man,” Hadvar said numbly.

Ralof gestured to the crumpled figure with his sword, sending an arc of blood across the stone floor. “You wear the same uniform!”

“This is war, Ralof!” he yelled back, his face and hands flooding with heat. “We’ve all heard about what Stormcloaks do with their prisoners! Are those your men? Eh?” He strode through the chamber with determination, wanting nothing more than to leave it behind him. “None of us have clean hands. Now let’s get out of here, if we can.”

He didn’t check to see if Ralof followed him, and a part of him didn’t care if he did, but he soon heard footsteps trailing behind him.

The fort was massive, beyond what Hadvar could have imagined. To think this labyrinth had been beneath their very feet for all these years. They reached a final chamber that appeared to be a deadend until Hadvar heard the whistle of wind.

“Hear that?” he said, holding up a hand to signal pause.

Ralof went silent, cocking his head to the side to listen. The rumble of the dragon fire had grown distant. The silence of the empty fort pressed in around them, interrupted by the strange whistle. “Sounds like a breach in the walls somewhere,” Ralof said.

They scoured the perimeter, finding a drawbridge, and beyond that, a massive opening in the fort’s stone wall that led to a natural cave with a mountain fed river.

“If we follow the water, we may be able to find a way out of here,” said Ralof.

Hadvar nodded. “Smart.”

Ralof gave him a scathing look.

“I’m being genuine!”

Grunting, Ralof ducked through the opening in the wall without sparing him another glance, and Hadvar followed with a sigh.

After a harrowing trudge through the caverns, nearly being killed by giant spiders, sneaking past sleeping bears, and crawling their way up and out through a crack in the side of the earth, Hadvar and Ralof emerged into the daylight, blinking into the blinding sun like newborns. With barely any time to reorient themselves, the sound of the dragon roared overhead, and Ralof grabbed Hadvar by the shoulders and yanked him down to hide behind a large boulder. They watched the massive black beast fly off, roaring once more before fading into the distance.

Hadvar gasped, pushing to his feet as realization dawned. “By the gods… It’s headed right for Riverwood! We have to go warn them!”

“Out-run a dragon!?” Ralof argued. “Are you mad? We barely made it out of Helgen with our lives!”

“We have to do something! I’ll go to Whiterun. Alert Jarl Balgruuf. He can send guards to Riverwood. At least they’ll have a fighting chance—!”

“Hadvar, steady…” Ralof said. He’d gotten to his feet, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. “Steady,” he repeated, reaching out to take him by the shoulders. “By Talos, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

Hadvar blinked back at him, startled by the observation. He suddenly felt like a teenager all over again, long-buried emotions clawing their way to the surface of his mind. Ralof’s expression was almost wistful; sorrowful. Hadvar reached out to grasp Ralof’s shoulders in return, his hands shaking. “You haven’t either, you know.”

To his surprise, Ralof smiled and let out a bitter laugh. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, sliding his hand to cup the back of Hadvar’s head, and brought their foreheads together.

Hadvar gripped the edge of Ralof’s cuirass, squeezing his eyes shut as he let out a shuddering exhale. He’d almost witnessed his friend’s execution. Almost took part in it. Now, in light of everything that had followed, he wasn’t sure if he’d have been able to live with himself had it been seen through.

I’m so glad you’re alive, he thought, but the words wouldn’t come.

Ralof pulled away and Hadvar reluctantly let his hands slide from his shoulders.

“We should probably split up,” Ralof suggested.

“You’re probably right…”

Neither of them moved. Hadvar swallowed, then opened his mouth to speak.

“Maybe—” Ralof spoke first. “We should go together to Riverwood. Split up from there.” He looked down at his Imperial armor. “Besides, I can’t go waltzing up to the nearest camp dressed like this.” He froze, eyes darting to Hadvar once more. “That is, unless you plan to take me as your prisoner.”

Hadvar let out a breathy, nervous laugh. “My friend, a dragon just attacked Helgen. I’m not worried about taking prisoners right this moment.” His stomach dropped, realizing he’d once again referred to Ralof as his ‘friend’.

But Ralof didn’t comment on the slip-up. He simply turned his eyes back to the sky. “Aye,” he agreed. “Strange times ahead, no doubt.”

Hadvar swallowed.

“No doubt,” he agreed.

#topsy writes #a bit of a long one #skyrim fanfiction #ralof/hadvar #hadvar/ralof #elder scrolls fanfiction #skyrim #skyrim npc #fanfiction

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