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17th of Last Seed, 4E 201, Helgen, Whiterun Hold, Skyrim
When Hadvar Tallowhand received the news that Ulfric Stormcloak had been caught in an ambush near the border, he wasn’t quite sure if he was meant to stand and cheer or grit his teeth and give a simple nod towards Legate Rikke. Tension had been high in Helgen before the news hit, now it was rare that he’d see a fellow Legionnaire without their hand already resting on their sword. It certainly didn’t help the citizen attitudes towards them, wavering from silent glares to vulgar yelling.Standing in the dirt, Hadvar’s gaze did not falter when the cart rolled in that held the bane of the Empire’s existence, sitting bound and gagged alongside three others. Which… wasn’t right. Glancing down at his registry, the cart should have only held three- Lokir of Rorikstead, Ulfric Stormcloak and Ralof of Riverwood, not an unknown forth. He resolved to raise it with Legate Rikke when it came to calling them forth. The captain standing next to him started.“Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time.” Their voice was steady, sounding clear. Hadvar did not know this Captain, having never had the chance to learn anything about them beyond their rank. One of the prisoners made a comment, a voice that was far too familiar.“Empire loved their damned lists.” Ralof of Riverwood muttered under his breath, loud enough to be an obvious jab, but not loud enough for immediate action to be taken. It was easy not to take offence to comments made by miscellaneous Nords, but a small part of him wilted at the thought of Ralof being here. Clearing his throat, Hadvar looked at his list and began.“Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm.” Ulfric staggered forwards towards the block, his blue eyes glaring daggers into Hadvar, and every other Imperial that caught his piercing gaze.“It’s been an honour, Jarl Ulfric!” Ralof spoke again, an almost manic smile on his face, one Hadvar recognised well with a punch to the gut. He forced himself to shake his head lightly at the man’s antics, no emotion on his face.“Ralof of Riverwood.” The chatty Nord stepped forwards, flashing a charming smile at Hadvar, making Hadvar’s breath catch in his throat. Annoyingly handsome as he was annoyingly stubborn. He went towards the block without further complaint.“Lokir of Rorikstead.” The third Nord stepped forwards, fear clear in his standing. His eyes darted around, pale arms shaking under thick rope.“No, I’m not a rebel.” He spat, his voice surprisingly steady. “You can’t do this!” He took off in a dad sprint away from the block, not tripping and hands still bound. He heard his captain sigh.“Halt!” The man, predictably, did not listen, continuing to run for his life.“You’re not going to kill me!” If Hadvar had been a better man, he might have prayed towards the Divines to guide the man’s soul, but he was s solider, first a foremost, and so, even in his mind, he remained silent.“Archers!” His captain commanded, arrows shooting past them, their soul purpose to rob Lokir of the thing he apparently craved the most. It was almost tragic how fast the arrows found their mark, the distant impacts feeling much louder in his silent head. He crumpled to the ground, sliding forwards in the dirt slightly, before all movement stopped, the man face down in the dirt. Hadvar crossed the name off his list.“Anyone else feel like running?” The hush that fell over the crowd felt heavier, even Ralof lowered his head, finding the ground incredibly interesting.Hadvar pulled his gaze from the crowd to the last person still standing by the cart. It was a Dunmer, sadly not an uncommon sight with the way Morrowind was nowadays, but he’d never seen a Dunmer that looked quite like this one before. The dark grey skin was not uncommon, not quite black but with no clear blue undertones like many Dunmer had.Distant eyes so orange and so light they could have been gold. Long black hair dangled into their face, the rest of it so thick and knotted, possibly reaching their hips down their back, had the hair been brushed through. Hadvar couldn’t help but notice how dangerously skinny the Dunmer was, certain that if their thread bare shirt had been any tighter, he would have been able to count their ribs clearly.Scars littered their dark skin, far too many than any normal civilian would have had. Perhaps that was the reason Hadvar did not think to extend any pity their way- scars meant fighter, many scars meant survivor.“Wait, you there.” The Dunmer’s eyes did not sway to Hadvar, in fact, they did not react to any of his words. Elves were strange, their ages never quite making sense to Hadvar- near enough immortal, according to some sources – but there was something about this Dunmer that made him pause, and not just the scars. He raised his voice.“Step forwards.” Once more, the Dunmer did not react.“Hey! Who are you?” There was no understanding in the Dunmer’s eyes when they finally turned his way, tensing at the volume of Hadvar’s voice. Their shoulders raised slightly, their brow narrowing. He felt a shiver run down his spine when those eerie golden eyes met his, as though they were staring at more than his physical form. When the dots finally connected in his head, he placed the list under his arm, keeping the Dunmer’s attention on himself. He pointed at his chest.“Hadvar Tallowhand.” He said as clear as he could, leaving a small gap between his first and last names. The Dunmer’s head tilted slightly, their defensive stance not exactly failing, instead becoming one of confusion, possibly.“Legate Rikke.” He pointed towards his superior, who looked moments away from yelling at him, but the Dunmer’s head tilted again, one of their hands curling into a fist and- nodding? They raised their hands and pointed at their own chest.“Vi’yathi Vamoryn.” They did not have the typical Morrowind accent he’d heard before- not the common one like those fleeing from Vvardenfell had, or the clearer tone of those from Blacklight.Their voice was thick, heavy with gravel, the type of voice that could be heard over the wind. He nodded at them and wrote their name down, guessing at the spelling and ending up with something that looked closer to ‘Veyati Vameorin’. Words were of no use to Vamoryn, so Hadvar simply gestured for them to join the rest of the group, those golden eyes picking him apart as they walked past.It would be a shame to not know exactly what Vamoryn did, but Hadvar wasn’t going to take any chances, not with the scars that covered them. The loose clothing revealed more than enough skin, although they could be covered neck to toe and there would still be that… unnerving scar cutting down the side of their face, starting next to their eye and ending at their chin, thin but deep, and that messy, ragged scar on the side of their throat, shifting with each breath they took, nearly hidden under the mass of dark hair.This was war, and no chances could be taken- they were brought in with Ulfric, and that alone must been something, never mind that it was common knowledge that Ulfric was not the warmest to Dunmer- if the Jarl was desperate, he would turn to Dunmer. The Empire would not execute an innocent.Hadvar joined Legate Rikke as they watched the first man be called to the block.“What was that about?” She demanded, her eyes never drifting from the scene in front of them, ever the professional.“I don’t believe the Dunmer spoke Cyrodillic, sir.” She huffed, and made no further comment as the axe came down again.General Tullius looked formidable as ever as he approached Jarl Ulfric, his soldier’s posture never wavering as he scared the King-Killer down.“Ulfric Stormcloak.” He began, his distain so clear in his voice that Hadvar winced. “Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn’t use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne.” Jarl Ulfric only stared at the General, not responding with his eyes or body movement, speech unavailable with the gag in his month. “You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace.”General Tullius concluded his speech, turning his back on Jarl Ulfric- a show of power, proving that the Jarl was truly powerless in his position. The Priestess began her usual speech, calling on the power of the Divines and giving her blessings. The condemned man walked up to the block, scoffing as he went.“For the love of Talos, shut up and let’s get this over with.” His voice did not shake, no fear present in his movement as he walked confidently up to the block and placed his head upon it. With his head turned to the side, he glared at Hadvar- no, no, not at Hadvar, at the group of Legionnaires Hadvar stood with, surely.“My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials.” He spoke, voice empty. “Can you say the same?” murmurs began to rise in the small crowd. The axe came down. Legate Rikke stepped forwards.“The Dunmer next!” Vamoryn’s eyes followed her, but once more there was no recognition in their face, so no aggression burnt in their gaze. A strange sound echoed in the distance, but Hadvar had lived in Skyrim all his life- he’d probably be more concerned if there were no strange noises echoing from the mountains. That did not stop a few of his fellow Legionnaires from making comments, and promptly being shushed for it.“The Dunmer Next!” Legate Rikke called again, irritation creeping into her tone, until one particularly brave Legionnaire stepped forwards and grabbed Vamoryn by the arm, and promptly got flipped into the dirt in a smooth, fluid movement that looked far more than unnatural by someone so emancipated.“Bahr falm lo.” They spoke, their voice sounding as though it was clawing its way from their throat. Hadvar was certain they must be words, but he’d heard Dunmeri before, and something about their words sounded intrinsically different. Vamoryn’s outburst did little to stop two larger Legionnaires from approaching as the first one got up from the ground, holding his jaw.The two held far firmer than the first, forcing more than guiding, and Hadvar was reminded that Vamoryn had their damn wrists bound, and still managed to grab the first soldier. No matter what daedric- cursed talents the Dunmer may have, in their weakened and starved state they stood no challenge to the two heavy-set Legionnaires. There was a sound again, closer this time. Hadvar ignored it once more, not wishing to face the famous wrath of Legate Rikke, not with General Tullius present.Strangely enough, when Vamoryn’s head was on the block, they stopped their struggle, their eyes dimming in defeat. The two Legionnaires tentatively released the now bruised arms of the Dunmer and stepped away from the executioner’s block. The executioner raised his eyes, readying the swing when a great, unnatural force caused him to fall back. Hadvar raised an arm over his eyes, blocking the rubble from hitting his face, wincing at a booming sound.Looking up, Hadvar had thought the blast had killed him, that a trap had been set by Stormcloak mages to free Ulfric Stormcloak, because what he saw, claws deep on the guard tower, great and dark and all imposing was a daedra-damned Dragon.The Dragon let out another ear splintering roar, followed by a strange sound that might have been language, making the list fall from Hadvar’s hands as they darted up to cover his ears, before his thoughts raced through his mind and he bolted forwards, narrowly missing the wave of fire spewing from the Dragon’s gaping maw, hearing the screams of his fellow Legionnaires as they got caught by the flames.Once more Hadvar must have been going mad, because from his position on the ground, he was certain, even over the sounds of death and fire and chaos he heard laughing. Eyes darting around, catching glimpses of limping soldiers, motionless charred corpses and panicked civilians, he saw the cause of the sound.Vi’yathi Vamoryn, still on their knees at the block, arms still bound, was laughing, their head knocked to the sky, laughing as the fire burned around them.Hadvar scrambled to his feet, feeling stone and dirt dig into his hands. He lunged towards Vamoryn, knocking them out the way as the Dragon spewed fire once more, feeling the heat of the flame lick at his boot. Pulling them both up, he turned to Vamoryn, only to see them smiling at him with too sharp teeth, the dark skin of their gaunt face pulling at the sides of their manic smile. Hadvar had little time to notice that Ulfric and Ralof had already run, more focused on grabbing Vamoryn and running, ignoring the screams and the cries.Another explosion sounded, and he was torn from Vamoryn. He continued running, glancing back only briefly to see Vamoryn on their feet, making their own way to the flames, their bare feet apparently unaffected by the carnage and embers.Hadvar is not quite certain how he made it to Haming’s side, time loosing all meaning in the chaos, only focusing on what was in front of him because now there was a child that needed him, his survival no longer being the only thing that mattered.“Haming! You need to get over here! Now!” The stone was hot to touch when he braced his body against it, keeping the child from the Dragon’s flames. Torolf laid weakly in the dirt, his left leg smashed to pieces and his right side burnt to a point that made Hadvar sick. The smell of burnt meat would make him gag for days to come, he was sure of it.Commotion sounded ahead of him, and like the Divine Crusader, there they were, covered in ash and soot with their hands still bound, stood Vi’yathi Vamoryn, their dark grin still on their face. They yelled something at him, but the pounding of blood in his ears was too loud to make out the probably-Dunmeri, instead paying attention to the gestures they were making, a few of them he recognised, universal symbols of ‘follow’, and a few unique ones he had never seen before.Haming’s broken sobs broke him from his Vamoryn-induced trance, the young lad collapsed over Torolf’s unmoving body- unmoving corpse.“Haming... lad, I need-” words tasted like ash on his togue, cloying and thick. He needed to find the General, he needed to find Legate Rikke, but the boy looked up at him, his body moved for him, holding Haming close, allowing him to sob into his armour. Hadvar flinched as a figure appeared beside him, Vamoryn staring intently between Haming and Hadvar before- nodding?Their head did not move, instead they brought their bound hands up and nodded a closed fist at them both, Haming’s sobs now reduced to hiccups. There was a strange emotion playing across Vamoryn’s face, and Hadvar had a deep-seated feeling that he would never entirely understand why, and another part of him that wished he would never need to understand. Vamoryn made a gesture for him to follow once more, not flinching when the Dragon flew overhead again, only dimming their smile a small bit.Vamoryn took the lead, their instincts leading them better than Hadvar, in his shocked state, ever could. He tucked Haming’s head into his shoulder, doing his damnedest to hide the Dragon’s carnage from the child. Vamoryn called out ahead of them, drawing Hadvar’s attention to who stood, slightly lopsided with a sword in his hand, his head forever held high.“Ralof.” He said, his tone clipped as he held Haming closer. The Nord smiled at him, not the smile that he knew, tinged with mischief and humour- this one was a cold smile that did not reach his deep blue eyes.“Imperial.” His once-friend spat before turning to Vamoryn, “Come, his is not the type to align yourself with.” Vamoryn only blinked at him, annoyance creeping in at the edge of their smile. Before either man could react, the Dunmer had managed to grab Hadvar’s free arm, pulling him along and grabbing Ralof’s arm.“What are you doing?” He demanded, glaring at Ralof in return. Vamoryn did not turn to face him, nor did their unnervingly strong grip loosen. The Dunmer pulled them both towards the building ahead of them, a quick glance showing the door as their only possible escape. Buildings had fallen around them, once tall and proud and now nothing more than smouldering rock and piles of unsalvageable debris.“What in Oblivion are you doing, elf.” Ralof did not address Mer like that previously, he did not spit their race with hatred in his tone, yet, he did not try and pull free of Vamoryn’s hold.“I am not going with a Stormcloak, Vamoryn.” Their ear twitched at the mention of their name, but their pulling did not stop, pulling them closer and closer towards the door.“As if I’d want to go with a damn Imperial!” The Nord stopped, finally digging his heels in to the dirt. Vamoryn let out a strange sound of frustration and let them both go, only to spin around and smack them both upside the heads, taking care to avoid any further injury to Haming. They pointed at the great fire-breathing Dragon with fury in their eyes.“Ist edur ot n’chow Aka! Osuhn ur’ish aradid!” They grabbed Hadvar and Ralof’s wrists again, either not understanding the clear tension between the two men, or willingly ignoring it, focused on making sure they all survived. The dragon swooped low again, roaring as it went, and Hadvar and Ralof shared a look that Hadvar will never admit, and marched into the keep alongside Vamoryn.Inside the barracks was a different story, Legionnaires and Stormcloaks with their weapons raised ready to strike, and Hadvar saw the look of almost boredom on Vamoryn’s face, one that then turned into a look of wicked glee as they released the two men and shot a fireball into the centre of the room, gathering the attention of everyone.“Aka,” They said slowly, as if the group of fighting soldiers and rebels were small children. “khurdahr.” The sentence sounded too simple, giving Hadvar the impression that Vamoryn was missing words deliberately, like Hadvar did when introducing himself- the basics only.They gestured to the door, then made a different gesture- they lifted their left arm across their chest, their fingers all curled in, a fist on their chest, their hands still bound, causing their right arm to hang against the other, their posture indicating it was meant to mean something, but Hadvar had no idea.“Bahr molhakam.” They said every word clearly, repeating the gesture, but there were only Nords or Cyrods in the room, none of them having any idea what the Dunmer was trying to convey.Their smile had fallen from their face when they had begun to address the room, but when their hands fell back to their sides, they flicked their wrist, another gesture that probably meant something, irritation, maybe. Hadvar could guess that ‘Aka’ had a connection to the Dragon, sounding even slightly similar to the Dragon-God of Time, Akatosh.He stepped in front of Vamoryn, drawing attention to himself, and little Haming in his arms. He saw men and women wince at the state of the child, who had cried himself into exhaustion against Hadvar’s armour.“A Dragon has attacked Helgen.” He began, mustering up a strength to his voice he did not feel inside. “And you all wish to waste time fighting each other?” He berated. A slight brush against his side alerted him to Ralof, who had moved to stand beside him.“Could you call yourselves true sons and daughters and children of Skyrim if you would rather spend time spilling pointless blood, when there are civilians who needed saving?!” Ralof’s voice was louder than Hadvar’s, causing Little Haming to shift in his arm, although it had the intended affect of many Stormcloaks lowering their weapons, a few looking somewhat guilty.“Sheath your weapons, soldiers- no more blood will be spilled this day.” He wrapped his free hand around Haming, drawing extra attention to the boy. Hadvar felt little shame in using the boy as a guilt trip, not if it meant they all got out of this Vaermina-Damned nightmare. It had the intended effect, men lowering their swords, exchanging uneasy glances at each other.Vamoryn clapped their hands.“Dima.” They said, something like amusement in their voice. They walked over to one of the Legionnaires who did not have a scabbard for his sword, instead just holding it loosely at his side.Brown eyes widened as Vamoryn lifted his sword arm with their bound hands, and cut their binding ropes with the man’s sword, flashing him a dangerous smile.They moved gracefully through the ocean of Men, until they came across an upon chest, picking up a few pieces of leather armour and two- two?- swords as they went. Hadvar could tell that no one, including himself, knew what to make of the strange Dunmer, especially when they picked up a bow as well, running their hand long the string, but not pulling it back, before giving silent approval.Light armour, two swords and a bow- where on Nirn did the Stormcloaks find someone like that? The fireball they cast earlier hinted at some type of magic, but Hadvar doubted he would ever get a clear answer.Vamoryn took charge, leading the group through the barracks, pulling a Stormcloak out of the way of the collapsing ceiling, pushing a Legionnaire out the way of a falling wall. When they entered the… prison room, upon seeing the Head Torturer (of which the Empire would not need if the Stormcloaks only listened), they shot an arrow into his knee before he could direct his lightening at them, yelling at him in Dunmeri, as well as grabbing the weapons from the Torturer’s Assistant and a fleeing Stormcloak, yelling “Flur, n’chow el, flur!” thoroughly confusing the two men, but their goal of ‘no fighting’ was achieved, so they marched on.A few fireballs at the feet of those still fighting ended any conflict fast as they marched through the caverns, and Hadvar was impressed with Vamoryn, having fully expected the dangerous and scarred Dunmer to kill any who stood in their path, peace not an option.Yet, they had not lost a single member of their make-shift group, now numbering at around forty of them in total, more Legionnaires than Stormcloaks, but no fighting broke out once Vamoryn had made their point. The few Frostbite Spiders that fell from the roof were quickly dispatched by an array of sword swings and clean arrows, the disgusting creatures barely delaying their journey.The only time they staggered on their single-minded mission was when they began to approach a bear. Hadvar was quick to rejoin his place at Vamoryn’s side, as Ralof took their other side.“It’s sleeping.” He said, hoping his words rang true. Ralof nodded, acting more and more like the man Hadvar knew, only dressed as a Stormcloak.“If we are quiet, we could sneak past it.” Ralof smiled at Hadvar, as charming as ever. Vamoryn looked between the two of them, confusion clear on their face, before they snuck forwards and promptly shot the bear in the ass, waking it up.Hadvar and Ralof stumbled back, but before they could call out to warn the rest of the group, Vamoryn lined up another shot, and hit the damn bear directly in the head. At their concerned looks they simply tilted their head, in a way that Hadvar was slowly learning meant the same as a shrug.“Ku’lim?” Ralof made a vague gesture towards the now-dead bear.“Why did you wake it up?” He floundered for a moment, before crudely miming sleeping, an arrow stabbing him in the behind, waking up, and then being shot in the head with an incredulous look.Hadvar did his best not to laugh, not to jostle the sleeping child in his arms, but the more time he spent around Ralof… perhaps the man he knew was not entirely gone. Vamoryn was not smiling, a serious look on their emancipated face.“Erudid ot druhkam Mer edur opumela, erudid ot druhkam walkim edur nabesh.” They said tensely, as though either Hadvar or Ralof would have any idea what they were saying. Perhaps they were quoting something- it was said with a certain remembrance to it, as though they were reciting it from a book, or perhaps not a book, a tale of sorts.Vamoryn looked between their blank faces and flicked their free hand, a sign of annoyance- Hadvar would have accepted an eye roll, yet the Dunmer’s eyes did not stray. The Dunmer crept towards the bear, an arrow knocked but not drawn, looking around for any other creatures.When they deemed the area clear, they inspected the bear, poking at the great furred creature, taking a large paw in hand, and pulling out a few claws, Hadvar winced at the sound it created, a ripping noise accompanied by a squelch.They inspected the claws, before placing them into a small bag at their waist, hidden in the folds of their armour. They gestured for Hadvar to follow, and he felt his legs move before he had time to think.There was something intrinsically other worldly to the Dunmer that gave him a mental pause, that made him follow without question. Ralof fell into step next to him once more.Vamoryn darted off ahead, leaving Hadvar and Ralof to direct the rest of their group. His eyes met Ralof’s for a brief moment, before they both looked away. Hadvar cleared his throat.“Where did you find them?” He questioned, avoiding the elk in the tavern.“What do you mean?” Ralof held out a hand to stabilize Hadvar as he stepped over a deep hole in the floor, Little Haming a dead weight in his arms.“Vi’yathi Vamoryn- I can’t imagine Jarl Ulfric allowing a Dunmer into the Stormcloaks so easily.” Ralof gave him a suspicious look.“Is that their name? I never caught it before we were captured.” Hadvar paused, staring at the Stormcloak.“Were they not part of your group, then?” Ralof shook his head lightly, humour playing on his face.“They were not a Stormcloak at all, my old friend. They were attempting to cross the border, and stumbled upon our camp. Imperials rounded us up together, uncaring that our perceived crimes were not the same.” Ralof’s tone became sharp, nearly growling the end of his sentence.There was a hatred in his clear blue eyes that made Hadvar stumble, a pit growing in his stomach. The Empire was fair and just- they would not sentence someone to execution for simply attempting to cross the border, especially if said being did not understand something as basic as Cyrodiilic.But there was a part of Hadvar who still longed for his friend, who still stood by his side and believed his every word- if Ralof claimed that with such conviction, it was unlikely he’d be lying in a misguided attempt to knock Hadvar’s loyalties.“I see.” Hadvar’s tongue felt thick in his mouth, not wishing an argument between them. The part that signed up for the Imperial Army yelled from inside its cage, begging for fight of wits against the Stormcloak, but this was not just a Stormcloak, this was his friend, and perhaps, in light of recent events, that was all that truly mattered.“Thank you.” He said quietly, but from Ralof’s stumbling step, Hadvar knew he had heard.They walked in silence the rest of the way.
17th of Last Seed, 4E201 – Outside an Unnamed Cave, Whiterun Hold, Skyrim
The sun had never appeared so beautiful, casting rays of light over green trees and rolling hills. Hadvar had lived in Skyrim his entire life, but he would never get used to all the sights this land offered.Smoke rose in the distance, and Hadvar’s heart ached. A few of the men that had followed them lurched over and threw up against the side of the road, the retching mixing with the muttered prayers to all the Divines.Hadvar sent off his own silent thanks, directed at no Divine in particular, most of it directed at a squinting Dunmer, who stood away from the group, glaring at the sun, looking painfully out of place amidst pale skin and rounded ears.Haming shifted in his arms, his eyes slowing blinking open, glancing at the sun.“We’re safe, Haming.” He whispered, pushing conviction in his voice, a false reassurance he did not feel. The boy’s tears were dry, but he had lost everything that day, no matter the outcome.“Is it gone?” The boy’s hand gripped his armour, finding purpose playing with the buckle.“For now. For now.” He reassured. The boy fell silent once more. A gentle hand held his shoulder, and Ralof stood beside him. He smiled at the boy, although Hadvar could see the quiet sadness in those blue eyes he knew so well. Haming looked between the two men, his eyes glancing between their opposing armours.“Are you going to fight?” He whimpered, and Hadvar’s heart broke. The boy had sat on his porch, excited to see the soldiers that patrolled his town, and now he was afraid at the sight of them.Ralof was always the more quick thinking of the two of them- Hadvar creating the initial plan, and Ralof the master of improvising. Hadvar did his best to not look too surprised when Ralof placed a hesitant kiss to his cheek, his spare hand rubbing the boy’s back.“No, lad, we’re finished with that.” And as Ralof spoke those words, Hadvar realised how true they were.He still believed in the Empire, but what if Vamoryn was not a lone case? What if was not the first time someone was captured for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Hadvar’s soul was tired of the constant fight, of the constant fear. How many more towns have the Imperials left in flames?Ralof’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, no longer just a simple hand, a supporting weight. Haming relaxed in his arms, a small smile on his face.“All finished, little one.” Hadvar reassured, feeling Ralof smile against his cheek. Haming looked between them again, his eyes still wide, still afraid, but clearer than before, mischief returning as he looked at them. Hadvar turned his eyes to Vamoryn once more, only to see them no longer standing ahead on the road, but crouched down next to a bush full of Lavender, twirling one of the sprigs in their hand.Haming pulled out of his arms, so Hadvar placed the boy on the ground, brushing the ash and what little pieces of rumble had landed on his clothing away. The boy gave him a smile, before running around, stretching his legs.He briefly locked eyes with Ralof, who sent a look of understanding way, and his friend followed Haming, calling for him to be careful.Vamoryn did not look up at him as he approached, their focus entirely on the flower in their hand. He said nothing as he stood at their side, waiting. Vamoryn continued to twirl the sprig, appearing almost child-like with their actions, making Hadvar wonder once more how old their saviour truly was.“Ku’lim edur isk?” They said, holding the lavender up to him, their eyes meeting his at last. A shiver went down his spine, the urge to look away from that startling and eerie gold far too strong, but he stood his ground.“Pardon?” Their free hand flicked in annoyance, pushing the lavender closer to him.“Hadvar, ammu.” He raised an eyebrow, knowing that Vamoryn was trying to make something clearer to him, but the point not quite clicking.“Vi’yathi, ammu.” Hadvar felt his eyebrows crease. “Isk, ammu?” Ammu… Ammu was name? Title, perhaps?“Lavender.” He responded, hoping his wayward guess was correct. Vamoryn pulled the lavender back to themself, running curious fingers over the tightly packed petals.“Lavender.” They whispered, their gravel-laced voice pulling at the Cyrodiilic word. While Hadvar knew a few basic phrases in Dunmeri, his pronunciation was terrible, and he hoped there was someone with a better understanding of the language in Riverwood to act as a translator.No progress would be made if they stood around a cave entrance, waiting around for the dragon to attack again. Many of the survivors had already left, heading off in different directions once a few had finished retching, or basking in the sunlight.“Ralof!” He called, turning in time to see Ralof catch Haming in his arms, holding him up in victory, the boy an endless stream of laughter in his hold. Ralof smiled at him, and his heart skipped a beat, his thoughts faltering- no more fighting, free smiles and a child in his arms.He coughed as he felt heat rush to his face, signalling Ralof to join him. Ralof bounded over, Little Haming smiling at his antics.“Hadvar.” His name was said with warmth, and Hadvar had to remind himself to stay on track.“We should head to Riverwood, inform the people about what we’ve seen.” He said, struggling to keep his voice steady. Ralof’s face fell slightly, his eyes darting to Haming.“But first,” Hadvar said, giving Ralof a gentle smile, “Haming,” The boy’s eyes snapped to his face, “Is there anywhere else you’d want to go?” Haming drew in on himself, curling into Ralof.“You are always welcome to stay with us, lad.” Us. Ralof had said us. Blue eyes gave an unsure glance towards Hadvar, but the soft smile on his face gave away his true feelings. There was an us again.“In Riverwood?” The boy whispered.“Of course, if you don’t mind nosy neighbours and chickens clucking at all hours.” The boy’s shoulders shook slightly with a silent laugh, and Hadvar ruffled his hair, Haming leaning into his hand.The boy was so very strong, whatever he was feeling, Hadvar would do his best to talk it though with the boy, to make sure he knows that he is allowed to feel grief, to cry over Helgen, but for now, he would let the boy laugh, and cope how he needed, and if that was Ralof and Hadvar, then… then they could do it.Hadvar snapped back to reality when he turned slightly and saw Vamoryn stood right next to him, causing him to startle sideways slightly.“Adur ohn khurhkam?” They questioned, and they all looked blankly at each other for a moment.“Hadvar and I were heading to Riverwood, if you want to join us.” Ralof said, holding Haming a little tighter in his arms. Vamoryn just blinked, looking at Hadvar. Hadvar ran a hand through his hair, barely catching the slight flinch Vamoryn gave in reaction to his raising hand.“Uh, er-eremnesid?” he attempted, watching Vamoryn cringe at his pronunciation. “aiuilee, huh, rune?” He tried, knowing his attempts were becoming weaker and weaker, Ralof trying to hide his laughter.But Vamoryn glanced between them, blinking and tilting their head.“Ohn urad lo eremnesid ohn ruhn, ayulid.” They smiled, “Riverwood’id.”Hadvar had no idea what Vamoryn just said, but he understood that they understood, and after everything that had happened that day, that was the best Hadvar could have hoped for, even if Vamoryn immediately started chewing some of the lavender they had picked up earlier.It made Haming laugh, at least, even if it did make Hadvar weary of what they did with the bear claws they acquired earlier.
18th of Last Seed, 4E201 – On the Road to Riverwood, Whiterun Hold, Skyrim
The walk to Riverwood would be a long one, several days long by Hadvar’s estimate. They had no money, no recourses, only what the land gave them.Ralof and Hadvar could get by well enough, having been trained by their families to hunt and scavenge for goods. The ground acted as their bedding, their arms as pillows.Haming rested on Hadvar’s chest, barely letting go of his or Ralof’s hand on the walk. He had tried to hold Vamoryn’s, but at their flitch his attempts at physical touch stopped any future advancements.When he had the energy, he walked alongside the silent Dunmer, giving them names for the plants they added to their bag, a few more plants finding their way into their mouth.An Alchemist, Hadvar could only hope, instead of some half-crazed fugitive. When the sun became low, it was Haming who chose their resting place, already beginning to collect firewood on Ralof’s instructions as Hadvar sat beside Vamoryn on a collapsed log, leaving as much space as he could between them.From his own satchel he pulled a small note book and a stick of charcoal, relaxing the muscles in his arms with quick sketches. A low, gravel-streaked inquisitive noise sounded his her right, Vamoryn’s eyes on the paper.Hadvar smiled, tilting the book so Vamoryn could see the black streaks across the paper, a half finished tree, an outline of a human face from many days ago.Those golden eyes, lined by dark lashes scanned the paper, a simple hum as an answer.The only warning Hadvar had of Haming and Ralof’s return was a frantic, “Careful, lad!” followed by an armful of small, yet sturdy, child. The notebook was dropped from his hands, and he laughed, picking up Haming to swing him around a few times.Ralof dropped the firewood in a small circle, a small distance from the fallen log Vamoryn still sat on. A dark hand grasped the fallen book, carefully leafing through the pages, a finger running along the sketches. Hadvar paused, holding Haming close- the boy curled up in his arms, as natural as breathing, resting his head on Hadvar’s unarmoured chest.Eerie gold eyes took in each page, pausing every so often.“Find anything interesting?” He asked, sitting down slowly, closer to Vamoryn. The Dunmer looked at him, a brief thing that reminded him of a startled predator, a wild beast not allowing itself to be seen as weak.They turned the book to him, showing one of his drawings- it was one of a lake, surrounded by endless trees and forests. He had drawn it when he was stationed in the Rift, vast amounts of downtime allowing for a more detailed drawing.“Amel merdekhes.” They said as soft as their voice would allow, a near whisper, said like a secret. They turned the book back to themself, and Ralof settled on his other side, leaning ever so slightly into his space- for warmth, probably.A way to share body heat, nothing more. The fire cast a low light over the four of them, flicking gently with the breeze.“Ku’ay edur Riverwood?” The book was turned to him once more, and his gaze was drawn from the fire. On the page was a rough outline of Skyrim, the Sea of Ghosts the only thing labelled, but the mountain ranges were drawn on, the Throat of the World the highest peak of them all.It was an easy enough question to understand, and Haming had grown bored of his lap, climbing over to Ralof.“Hand it here, I’ve got a better idea.” He held out his hand, gesturing for Vamoryn to give him the notebook. Vamoryn shuffled closer, still not touching, but less than arms reach away now.Hadvar pulled a stick of charcoal from his pouch, flipping to a page with a map that was closer in on Whiterun Hold, he outlined Helgen, tapping it with the charcoal.“Dragon attack- Aka, er, marghad. Helgen.” Vamoryn gave him a pointed look that let him know his accent was not getting any better, but they understood him. He drew a line across the path they would need to take- a three day trek- and circled Riverwood.“There.” A dark finger hovered over the lines he had drawn, not touching the charcoal.“Bhar ist khostif...” Their voice low, and Hadvar had no idea what they had said. Instead, he waited for Vamoryn to move their hand away, flipping to an empty page and began drawing.He knew the shape of the border well enough, but the rest of the lines were a guess at best, the only thing he was certain of was the large island in the middle.Morrowind took shape on the paper, and he marked the cities he knew, Blacklight, Kragenmoor and Mournhold. Red Mountain took its place in the centre of Vvardenfell, and once he was certain most of the recognisable landmarks had been made, he turned the page to Vamoryn, hoping for recognition in their eyes.Careful hands took the book, golden eyes widening in understanding. They held their hand out to Hadvar, gesturing for the charcoal.They blacked out the majority of the mainland, a harsh scribble, and circled a section north of Red Mountain- right in the middle of the Ashlands.Hadvar felt the need to smack his own forehead. It was no wonder he did not understand Vamoryn half the time- what remained of the Ashland tribes after the Red Year were highly secretive, more so than before, never interacting with the outside world. It would make sense for an accent or dialect he was unaware of to emerge.“That explains it.” His tone was light, more humorous than anything.“What explains what?” Ralof placed his head on Hadvar’s shoulder, and he forgot for a moment what he was meant to be explaining.“Vamoryn is an Ashlander, a Deep Ashlander judging by the territory.” The Dunmer’s head raised at the mention of their name, but quickly returned to the page.“Ash covered lungs would certainly explain that accent.” Ralof joked, but his head did not move from Hadvar’s shoulder, happily settled. It was hard to draw his eyes away from Ralof’s peaceful face, fire dancing in those beautiful blue eyes, his body relaxed with a lightly sleeping child in his arms- it made Hadvar’s heart ache, or perhaps the better word would be long for something, something that was once again possibly in his reach.But Vamoryn had placed the notebook in front of him once more, more circles drawn around different areas.“Khosin Balg- Imaheran Merial. Magnu Balmephag- Tistmyn Merial.” The names, or what Hadvar assumed were clan, or tribe, names, were said with little emotion, a distant recital, almost.A few more names were mentioned, sounding the same as the first, detached, but it was when Vamoryn pointed towards the last second of land, the biggest, the one that clearly stretched into others territory, did their expression change, into something Hadvar could only describe as one of grief, but more importantly anger.“Molkhun Dun- Vamoryn Merial.” If Hadvar understood what Vamoryn was trying to say, then not only was Vamoryn an Ashlander, but an Ashlander from the main family of a hostile tribe.Ashlanders from the inner tribes rarely left their homes, and those from the pillar families dared not to even think about leaving their people.“Khur- khurhad joo’et?” Hadvar attempted, knowing he butchered the words, but Vamoryn did not appear to care, only staring harshly at the paper.“Os id’ath.” Eerie golden eyes, the fire making the colours shift like molten metal, turned to him.“Vi’yathi.” Was all they said, just their name, an emphasis placed on those first two letters. Hadvar did not understand, and a part of him accepted he never would, so he simply smiled and said.“Hadvar. Ralof. Haming.” He pointed at Vamoryn, placing no emphasis on any part of the word. “Vi’yathi.”Vamoryn blinked, closing the notebook, turning their full body towards Hadvar. The fire lit up their face, eyes wide at bright- their scars standing out on their skin, a harsh line down the side of their face.They looked… confused, disbelieving, only staring at Hadvar, who only smiled softly at them. They looked young, the harsh scar down their face doing nothing to dissuade Hadvar of the notion.They turned towards the fire, only for a moment, before standing up, placing the notebook on the log. Vamoryn moved over towards a tree, curling up at the base, head tucked into themself.Hadvar jogged Ralof, and the man blinked slowly at him.“Time for bed, I’ll take first watch.” Ralof smiled at him, holding Haming close and finding a good spot to rest his head down. Hadvar knew he would have to sleep eventually, but there was an air around Vamoryn that kept him awake, that made him volunteer for first watch.It made him want to pay attention, to follow and to listen. Every breath they took demanded his attention, and yet they could slip away into shadow without a moments notice. It scared him, and perhaps the Divines have a greater plan for the Ashlander, but whatever it was, he hoped they would not need to face it alone.As the night grew darker, and more stars danced across the sky, Hadvar could have sworn he heard Vamoryn whisper to themself, ever so quiet, but thick with an emotion he did not know.“Yi ammu edur Vi’yathi.”Perhaps he would call the Ashlander Vi’yathi tomorrow, instead of Vamoryn.
19th of Last Seed, 4E201 – On the Road to Riverwood, Whiterun Hold, Skyrim
Birds swooped though the air, Vi’yathi ducking slightly whenever they got too close, and from what Hadvar had heard of Cliff Racers, for good reason. Before Dragons reappeared, there was little in Skyrim that attacked solely from above, and Hadvar felt the need to start practising ducking himself.The path was a familiar one, the landmarks bearing little importance to Hadvar and Ralof anymore, but Vi’yathi paused on multiple occasions, picking flowers or mushrooms, or simply admiring the view, but the next thing they stopped on required a little more attention.“The Guardian Stones!” Ralof exclaimed, a grin on his face. It seemed like only yesterday Hadvar and Ralof were just children, running from the town, eager to make it to the stones.They had both rested their hands upon the Warrior Stone, sending a quick prayer to the stars and hoping they listened. Vi’yathi darted between the stones, and Hadvar felt the need to explain each one, but he also had a feeling Vi’yathi would give him a blank look and sigh.The Ashlander settled in front of the Thief Stone, the hand tracing the path between the carved stars. There had been no reaction from the Stones when Hadvar had done it years ago, but when Vi’yathi placed their hand upon the Thief, the carving glowed blue, ever so slightly, and if you were not looking for it, you would have never seen it.It caused Vi’yathi to jump back slightly, back onto the path. They gestured for Hadvar and Ralof to take the lead once more, content with ignoring whatever they thought happened with the Guardian Stones, and Hadvar was all too happy to allow it, walking on, not resting until they had once more settled down for the night.The night began peacefully, the only noises that of the wind running through the trees, and the expected and distant sounds of animals running across the forest floor. Haming slept on Ralof’s chest, curled up in his arms.Vi’yathi… Vi’yathi did not appear to sleep, for those first few hours. They sat isolated away from the rest of the group, their body curled in on itself, but occasionally, Hadvar would catch golden eyes reflecting the firelight, judging, observing.When the Ashlander finally slept, it was uneasy and fitful, but the most confusing part had to be the whispers. Hadvar cautiously moved closer, still wary of an attack, but all he heard were the whispers- in clear Cyrodiilic.An older form of Cyrodiilic, perhaps, but one that he still understood. There were sounds of confusion, of questions he only half-heard, and a name, just a simple name, that made a memory echo in Hadvar’s mind. Ria Silmane.Hadvar was certain he had heard the name before, but as the night drew on, his memories failed him, and Vi’yathi’s frantic half murmurs offered no help.If they did understand Cyrodiilic, then why lie? Why display such clear confusion upon hearing it? He had heard of people that were gifted visions by the Eight- the Jarl of Morthal, Idgrod Ravencrone being one of them- was that what Vi’yathi had?Hadvar did not have the time he wanted to question it, the form he was observing jolting up, Vi’yathi’s hand reaching for their sword, eyes unseeing, only for a moment. They looked like a frighted child, and that thought jolted fear through Hadvar’s heart- he truly did not know how old Vi’yathi was.He knew, reasonably, that Dunmer did not age the same as Men did, but something about them still felt young. Golden eyes met brown, and Vi’yathi did not relax, but their hand no long wrapped around their sword. They stood, striding over to were Hadvar sat, a safe distance away.“Hudilk.” They said, their voice deeper than before, as though they had been screaming.“Shoreshad lo ohm hudilk.” At Hadvar’s blank stare, they flicked their wrist before pointing at themself.“Arador Dunmeri.” They pointed at him, waiting, expectant for Hadvar to catch up. Arador Dunmeri was their language, perhaps…? Hadvar pointed at himself.“Cyrodiilic.” Then at the sleeping Ralof, “Nordic.” Vi’yathi looked at him within something akin to disbelief on their face.“Asc hudilk?” They shook their hand at him before he could respond, instead holding up a closed fist.“Bahr.” They raised a single finger, “Aln.” Numbers. They were trying to teach Hadvar numbers. Whatever exhaustion lingered in his mind was quickly swept away by the delight of languages.They sounded similar enough to the Dunmeri languages he was already somewhat familiar with, but it never hurt to check. He raised his own closed fist.“Zero.” He raised his finger, “One.” Vi’yathi smiled, obviously pleased that their plan had worked, and they went back and forth for some time, repeating numbers at each other, when a question made itself eerily present in Hadvar’s mind.“Hey, how old are you?” At Vi’yathi’s stubborn stare, he pointed towards himself.“Twenty-six. Ascahn tahn.” Then towards Ralof and Haming.“Twenty-seven. Nine.” Vi’yathi looked between the three of them, cogs in their head turning.“How old are you...?” They mimicked, feeling the words in their mouth. “Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Nine.” Then, recognition. “Muhr-silvar!” They grinned, “Alnahn tahn. Ten-six.”
No.
They announced the number with such joy, pleased with themself for figuring out the puzzle of language, and yet, Hadvar was frozen.Vi’yathi, who knew how to wield a sword as an extension of their own arm, Vi’yathi, covered in too many scars, Vi’yathi, who knew they weight of blood on their hands and blinked it away as though it were nothing.They were a child, closer in age to Haming than Hadvar.A jagged scar across the side of their throat, a harsh mark down the side of their face, hair knotted and uncared for, skin thin and ribs prominent- who allowed for a child to become this?Hadvar edged closer to Vi’yathi, careful not to startle them, he held his arms out, waiting, gaging their response.Eerie golden eyes, a stark contrast to their dark skin, scanned over his outstretched arms, their own arms mimicking the movement slowly. Hadvar drew closer- from most people, he would take the action as consent, but the confusion of Vi’yathi’s face at their own arms was heart-breakingly telling.He pulled them in, and held them close. Vi’yathi froze, becoming stiff and tense in his arms, but they did not push Hadvar away, they did not scream or kick or stab.They froze. Hadvar hummed, gently beginning to rock them slightly, a soothing motion he knew that worked on other teenagers.Ever so slightly, their shoulders came down, leaning in to Hadvar’s chest, head against his heartbeat. He rubbed a hand along their back, feeling the concerningly prominent ridges of their spine, even under the leathers.“Hug.” He said, keeping his voice low, waiting for a response. Vi’yathi’s arms wrapped around his waist, not tightly, just….Hovering, waiting. After what felt like an age, the fire flicking low, they answered.“…Hug.” Their voice was thick with emotion, but Hadvar felt no tears fall from their eyes, only a slight trembling in their shoulders.They did not respond with a foreign word, did not try and teach Hadvar anything new- they simply repeated the word ‘hug’, their voice filled with awe and wonder, almost.Hadvar’s heart shattered a little more for the Ashlander with the wild smile and deadly aim, aged sixteen and finally learning what a hug was.Before, Vi’yathi had said they could not go home, that they were forced to leave, for one reason or another, Hadvar would not try to understand a culture so secret it was assumed they had all died out during the Red Year, but surely, surely they would not deprive their young something as simple as a hug.Hadvar waited for Vi’yathi to pull back, letting them take all the time they needed. The shaking stopped after a while, and Vi’yathi pulled back, their eyes glistening but their face dry.“Juohn.” They said, barely above a whisper. They stood without another word, and settled down by the tree they had claimed as theirs once more, and Hadvar let his eyes drift to Ralof and Haming’s sleeping faces, his chest feeling warm.
20th of Last Seed, 4E201 – Riverwood, Whiterun Hold, Skyrim
The walls of a town had never looked so welcoming, so inviting, so safe. Stone and wood woven together in a way that spoke of home, of warm fires and thick furs.The last time Hadvar had seen the walls was with the look of heartache, his eyes darting over to where Ralof walked, Haming securely in his arms, that lopsided smile permanently on his face as he explain all the tricks and mischief he and Hadvar had been involved in in the years past.The little boy's face reflected that joy, a wide smile on his face, and his laughter startled Vi’yathi, who gave a confused little smile on their own- not like the harsh, sharp smile they displayed while fighting, but a small soft one that barely lifted the sides of their mouth, but their eyes… their eyes revealed all once Hadvar truly began paying attention.They did not focus on mouths, or cheeks, or eyebrows, they immediately went to hands and eyes, their gestures either obvious or minute.Vi’yathi appeared almost uncomfortable having so much of their body on display, even with their arms all covered, the armour providing covering for their chest, the leather hiding ribs Hadvar knew were all too visible.Hadvar was lucky to find a ring abandoned on the side of the road, as the Ashlander had taken to picking at the side of the nails when uncomfortable, that or continuously pulling on the hem on the already threadbare shirt underneath the armour.Their arms now raised in front of their chest, almost like a drawing of a Guar Hadvar had seen, and had Hadvar not seen how dangerous Vi’yathi could be with the weapons they carried, they would appear more like an abused animal than a battle hardened warrior.The small bag at their waist was slowly filling out as the four continued on their journey, mountain flowers and various mushrooms joining them.Neither Hadvar or Ralof had experience with many of Skyrim’s mushrooms, but little Haming was all too happy to share his knowledge of ‘Blisterwort’ or ‘Mora Tapinella’, much to the joy of Vi’yathi who dutifully repeated the names back to Haming.The only mushroom that Vi’yathi appeared to be able to identify immediately was Namira’s Rot, or ‘Namira’m scutif’. The Ashlander chewed on a few of the ingredients as they walked, acknowledging the affects.Hadvar had never understood alchemists, or their endless need to put things in their mouths when surely there were books on what each plant or substance did. The thought of putting Hagraven feathers in his mouth made him cringe internally.“The old gate, there’s a few cracks in the stone up there, perfect for hiding stinkers- stinkers, of course, being balls of cow dung that would drop on people.” Hadvar remembered being quite proud of that trick as Ralof recalled it, right until one fell onto Uncle Alvor, and the blacksmith immediately recognised who was behind the prank.He could still remember the ache in his muscles from his uncle forcing him to work the forge with him that week, but it was not as bad as Ralof’s punishment, who was forced to shovel all the cow dung for that week, smelling horrible every time the two then boys met up in secret in the evening.Although, Hadvar distinctly remembered also thinking that no matter now bad Ralof smelt, it did not make Hadvar want to kiss him any less.“Vi’yathi?” The Dunmer had paused at the town, almost hesitant, twisting the ring on their finger, eerie golden eyes flicking to Hadvar momentarily.“This is Riverwood, safety. We made it.” He exclaimed with joy, hoping to see it reflected on Vi’yathi’s face. It was not quite fear, not quite apprehension. Ashlanders were Nomads, if Hadvar recalled correctly, never staying in one place for too long.“My Uncle Alvor works the forge here, the molihn-drenlyn. Ralof’s sister works around the lumber mill.” While Hadvar’s accent had not improved, Vi’yathi’s understanding had, picking up on conversation here and there, it was choppy at best, but it served its purpose until they could find a proper translator.“Uncle?” They asked, instead of anything else, and Hadvar blanked, no word for uncle in Dunmeri appearing to him, but Vi’yathi saw his panicked face, and laughed, a short, deep thing, and one more thing Hadvar had come to learn about Vi’yathi is that even when afraid, even in unknown places, they would take any chance they would get to make someone wrong-footed.“Know Uncle. Atma-daesohn. Parent-brother. Atma-daeseh, parent-sister. Atma-daesanh, parent-sibling.” Hadvar breathed a sigh of relief, but at the same time could not think of a true translation for ‘parent-sibling’, which annoyed him mildly.Vi’yathi only smiled and stuck close to the small group. Uncle Alvor’s forge would be closest, so it was easy to call out to the man once Hadvar saw him working outside on the grindstone.“Uncle Alvor! Hello!” The blacksmith looked up from his work, mouth falling open and eyes widening, scanning up and down Hadvar’s body. While all his wounds had been tended to, it was still obvious on his armour that he had been involved in some type of fight, definitely involving fire.“Hadvar?” His uncle asked, “What are you doing here? Are you on leave from…” His eyes drifted over to Ralof and Haming, pausing slightly on Vi’yathi before returning to Hadvar.“Shor’s bones, what happened to you, boy? Are you in some kind of trouble?” Alvor was a strong man, but one that was prone to jumping to the worst possible conclusion, and while when Hadvar was younger it was funny to watch his uncle spiral, now a grown man it was more irritating.“Shh, uncle. Keep your voice down. I’m fine, but we should find Hod and Gerdur and discuss inside.” His uncle scoffed.“I would not allow those Stormcloak sympathisers in my home-” It was Vi’yathi who made his uncle stop before Hadvar or Ralof could.“Tribe nonsense.” They said confidently. “No kill, talk. Safety.” It was thick with their accents, but their demeaning tone came through clearly, Alvor appearing chastised by a sixteen year old Dunmer who barely understood Cyrodiilic.“There are more important things in this world than the war, Uncle, please. There is more room in their house.” Hadvar shot a glance over to Ralof, who nodded.Haming had tucked his face into Ralof’s neck again, only peaking out at catch a glance of the chickens every now and then, or to focus his gaze entirely on Vi’yathi.“Fine.” His uncle agreed. “I’ll tell Sigrid and Dorthe, but I expect a full explanation, boy. Go.” With that his uncle turned back to his home, leaving the four alone with only the chickens and Mad Hilde’s yelling on the street.Ralof sighed, “It could have gone worse. Much worse.” Hadvar did not wish to agree, but he also knew that Ralof was right, and there was little need for him to argue with every little thing his friend said anymore.“Let us hope your sister is more welcoming.” Vi’yathi cringed at the tone of his voice, the tension obvious, but Ralof lead them to the lumber mill were Gerdur worked.“Gerdur!” Ralof called out, resting his hand on Haming’s head as to not startle him with the sound. Gerdur turned on the spot, her eyes also widening at Ralof’s appearance.“Brother! Mara’s mercy, it’s good to see you!” her grin was infectious, wide and inviting.“Gerdur…” he reasoned, her eyes finally scanning the rest of their little group, once more landing on Vi’yathi for a second more than needed.“It is safe for you to be here?” Her glare was directed at Hadvar, still in his Imperial armour. “We heard that Ulfric had been captured…” she moved closer, scanning Ralof’s face for any sign of harm that had not already been dealt with.“Gerdur, I’m fine.” He glanced down at Haming, then at Hadvar,“At least, now I am.” Hadvar’s heart swelled at that basic admission, the simple act of eye contact meaning more than anyone could know.“Are you hurt? What’s happened? And who’s this? One of your comrades?” She gestured to Vi’yathi, who mimicked, “Comrade?” back to her, waiting expectantly.It was probably not the best habit to allow the Ashlander to fall into, repeating unknown words out loud, knowing that at one point someone would say a word that was not appropriate for Vi’yathi to hear, but it had worked for their three-day travel.“Pardon?” Gerdur said, startled by Vi’yathi’s voice and direct tone.“Molamer-daeljuhn.” Hadvar supplied, and he could feel Gerdur’s burning eyes on him once more. Vi’yathi hummed in acceptance.“No, they’re a friend, they helped me- helped us,” Ralof placed emphasis on that, drawing attention to Haming as well, “escape. I owe them my life. May we talk inside? There is much to discuss, and Alvor will be arriving soon to hear-” Gerdur cut him off with a scoff, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.“Imperials? You are willingly inviting Talos damned Imperials into our home?” Gerdur had more to say, but once more Vi’yathi stepped in, mimicking Gerdur’s scoffing sound, which appeared more like a growl than anything.“Eshtik tribe nonsense? Why? More need things. Shut. Let we go.” They said succinctly, causing Gerdur to sputter at the broken Cyrodiilic.“Please, systur. We will explain everything.” She stood straighter, her glare strengthening. She was not very tall for a Nord, only reaching Ralof’s shoulders when they stood together, but what she lacked in height she made up for in the strength of her spirit.“Fine, inside. I see Alvor headed this way.” She called out to someone working the mill, “Hod! Come inside, we have company, now!” there was a distant grumble that Hadvar recognised as Hod, and the small group walked to Gerdur’s home.It was larger than what Alvor had, most of his land being taken up by his forge, their largest room underground. There was a main room, fire burning steady in the centre of the room, several doors that lead off to what Hadvar knew were different bedrooms, one that was always kept clean for Ralof.Small feet ran across the floor and the body they attached to hit Ralof in the legs.“Uncle Ralof! Can I see your axe? How many Imperials have you killed?” Little Frodnar asked question after question, but his one about Imperials made Haming flinch, and Ralof quieted the boy.“No talk of fighting, Frodnar, come sit with us, and I will explain the best I can.” The little boy beamed, uncaring for the impact of his words, only pleased his uncle was home.Hadvar stood awkwardly in the corner of the room, Ralof having passed Haming to him to help set up a few drinks. Vi’yathi stood next to him, once more uncaring of the clear tension that spread into every crack of the room.A loud knock on the door, and Alvor, Sigrid and Dorthe stepped inside, the first of which had his nose scrunched up as though he had smelt something particularly unpleasant.An uneasy silence settled between the two families, Ralof joining Hadvar’s side once more. When they were children, it was not unheard of for Uncle Alvor to care for Ralof and Gerdur while their parents were away, and now the two families could hardly stand to look at each other, and Hadvar had not even seen the change, to begin with, had not seen the cracks and breaks in the place he called home until it was too late, too obsessed with war and glory and it took a Dragon attacking to make him see it.“We were promised an explanation, boy.” Alvor spoke, his voice gruff and low, intended to intimidate. Hadvar cleared this throat, organising his thoughts.“I was stationed at Helgen when several carts of prisoners arrived for execution, one of those carts containing Ulfric Stormcloak.” There were quiet murmurs of outrage from Gerdur and Hod, but they did not attempt to speak over Hadvar.“Midway through the executions, a Dragon attacked, burning Helgen to the ground-”“A real Dragon?” Dorthe asked, nearly jumping where she stood.“Was it big? Did you kill it?” Hadvar swallowed, feeling the weight of all the eyes upon him, his mouth dry.“It killed everyone.” Haming whispered, pulling away from Hadvar’s chest, asking to be put down. Once on the floor, the boy hid behind Vi’yathi’s legs, the Ashlander’s hand immediately holding onto his shoulder and helping hide him.“My mama, my papa…” The boys voice wavered, and tears glistened in his eyes, unfalling. Dorthe let out a tiny little ‘oh…’ and backed away, hiding behind Alvor’s legs in return.Haming pulled at Vi’yathi’s hand, “You speak.” He whispered, barely loud enough for Hadvar to hear. Vi’yathi’s eyes closed for a moment, their shoulders straightening.“Try, orod.” Hadvar saw how they looked at the people around them, analysing them, he saw how their eyes paused only momentarily on the weapons available to them, their own distance from the door, and so forth.“Dragon land.” They started slowly, the words thick and foreign in their mouth. “Fire, people hurt. Two clans fight, wrong… telsad. No fight. Escape. Riverwood, safety. No fight.”They paused multiple times as they spoke, their understanding significantly better than the days prior, but their language was limited.“Hadvar and Ralof no fight. Daeljuhn. Friends.” Alvor scoffed, staring at Vi’yathi, Gerdur and Hod had no trust in their eyes, no kindness, just suspicion.The look in all of their eyes reminded Hadvar of when he heard Ralof call Vi’yathi ‘elf’, needless hate for a reason Vi’yathi, a reason no one could control.“Mind your eyes.” He found himself saying. “Without Vi’yathi, we would all be dead. Without Vi’yathi, we could have been buried or burned alive still fighting a pointless war in Helgen. They speak simply, but they speak the truth.” Alvor sputtered.“Pointless war? Boy-” his uncle stepped forwards, but Ralof moved his body in front of Hadvar, shielding him.“Hadvar speaks true, this war is pointless. I have seen Ulfric Stormcloak with my own eyes, and I saw how he ran, I saw how he did not stop to help anyone out the rubble. I also saw how Tullius ran, uncaring for his men. This- this is not a war of the people, this is a war of men with power and politics that most of us barely understand.”His words were said in a flurry, nearly spitting out his sentences at times. It was a harsh revelation, one that Hadvar knew was true, but it still hurt a part of him to hear. He had dedicated years of his life to the Imperial cause, and he knew Ralof had done the same for the Stormcloaks. Ulfric Stormcloak would turn tail and run as soon as he could, the Empire would attempt to execute individuals for only crossing the border.“What has happened to my brother?” Gerdur asked, her voice high and thin. “What has happened to the man who claimed to fight for our freedom?”“That man is still here, he has just realised that Ulfric is not going to give us that freedom, neither will the Empire, especially under the Thalmor.” Ralof spat back. “I will not allow this war to take any more from me, not now I realise what it nearly made me loose.”Ralof took a step back, his hand sliding into Hadvar’s, warm and calloused and familiar. Hadvar felt himself grin before he could stop it, staring at Ralof’s face, his blond hair in need of a wash, his brilliant blue eyes, that dumb scar in his eyebrow that he got from a chicken, not in a sword fight like he claimed.The sound of laughter echoed through the room, and Hadvar saw who it was coming from- Sigrid, one of the few people who knew the true depth of Ralof’s and Hadvar’s former (but not former, not anymore) relationship.“You are all acting like children.” Sigrid said through laughter.“The boys have made their decision, Vi’yathi has done their best to share the story, and somehow all of you have managed to miss one of the more important points of their tale.” Sigrid’s announcement was met with blank stares. “Dragons, you fools. Dragons have returned to Skyrim, and you worry yourselves over a war between men?”Hadvar knew he could always trust his aunt to know what was important in any conversation, picking up on thing everyone else would ignore.“Not to mention, that our boys have returned with a child, a child who has lost his home and slept on the road these past few days, and you haven’t offered him something to eat? Something to drink, at the least?” More blank stares, and Aunt Sigrid sighed. He moved towards Haming, crouching down to his level.“Hello, little one. My name is Sigrid, what’s yours?” Her voice was soft, speaking carefully. Haming did not respond, instead pulling at Vi’yathi’s hand that he now gripped between his own.“Ammu.” He whispered to the Ashlander, who nodded their spare fist in understanding.“Haming.” They said for him, his eyes still not meeting Sigrid’s. His aunt nodded, smiling gently.“Haming, that’s a good name. Did Hadvar and Ralof offer to care for you until someone else can?” Haming did not respond once more, and Hadvar realised that beyond taking the boy to Riverwood, he and Ralof had not spoken with him about their next true moves, most words said in passion, not logic. Haming pulled at Vi’yathi’s hand again, whispering more.“Itkhol Hadvar en Ralof. Ural ruhn enhi asuhl.” Haming had been talking with Vi’yathi more than Hadvar had noticed, his accent sloppy but his words clear, even if Hadvar himself did not know what the boy was saying exactly.“Haming… Trust Hadvar and Ralof. Stay, have home… Haming and Hadvar and Ralof.” Vi’yathi said for him, briefly looking down at the boy, who smiled and nodded his head, then his fist at the Ashlander.Hadvar’s heart bled a little, and he crouched down to Haming’s level, holding his arms out for the boy.“If you want to stay with us, we will gladly give you a home.” The boy beamed and ran into Hadvar’s arms, another pair of arms wrapping around them both, Ralof having joined the hug on the ground.Their little bubble of peace was broken by Hod, who eloquently said,“Wait, Dragons are back?” Ralof sighed, and Vi’yathi spoke for the new family.“Yes. Burn Helgen. We leave. Riverwood safe.”“But for how long? If the Dragons truly have returned, Jarl Balgruuf must be informed.” Hadvar felt dread growing- one of them would need to ride out to Whiterun and inform the Jarl, he did not want to take Haming back on the road, but he felt as though his heart of simply stop working if he were forced to leave his new family.“We have no one to spare to go to Whiterun-”“I have to stay-”“Perhaps we could hire-?”“If we are attacked-”Voices clashed against each other, becoming louder and louder as the two families found something new to debate and argue.“I go.” A deep, gravel laced voice broke through the endless yelling. “Whiterun, yes? Tell Jarl, Khan? Dragons. Give duhn. I go.”They said it so simply, as though they were not in a new place, surrounded by culture and language they did not understand. But no one argued with them, no one stepped up to help, just a lone Ashlander in the middle of Skyrim, far away from home.“I go.” They said again.“I have some spare swords, better than iron-”“I’m sure we have some potions somewhere-”“Light armour? I can find something good-”“There’s a spare bow-”The voices started again, offering help this time, equipment for the Dunmer’s journey. Vi’yathi looked at Hadvar, a bewildered look on their face at the new words and lack of translations, and all Hadvar could do was let himself laugh, surrounded by his new family, his love wrapped around him, and child in his arms, watching his friend be hounded by the rest of his family.
21st of Last Seed, 4E201 – Riverwood, Whiterun Hold, Skyrim
The small group was welcomed with open arms to spend the night at Gerdur’s home, or have Alvor pay for a few rooms at the Inn. While Hadvar appreciated Gerdur’s offer, a single look between Hadvar and Ralof let him know that perhaps they had been surrounded by everyone else for too long, and took the Inn rooms, Vi’yathi having one to themself to sort out all their new equipment.Hadvar slept peacefully for the first time in months, possibly, curled in Ralof’s arms, quite whispers shared between them- confessions, apologies, regrets, things that hurt to say, but needed to be heard.In the morning, Hadvar woke, safe and secure, pulling Ralof out the bed.Vi’yathi was already awake, wearing their new gear, two new steel swords on their hips, their hair brushed and braided back away from their face, short loose strands still in their face, but the clean hair helped them look younger.Someone had given them a scrap of fabric to cover their face with, and a plain brown hood that they had not pulled up, but with the fabric covering their face, they looked more at ease than Hadvar had seen them the whole trip to Riverwood, nearly comfortable in their own skin.Vi’yathi did not say much before leaving, only chatted briefly with the merchants in town, their language still limited.They did not offer a hug before they left, they bowed slightly,“Ara bahr gokledan devehr ohm baldefur.” They said, an odd cadence to their voice, as if it were an honour.“Aramalroua-har halberad ohn ruhn. Silvar miragad ohn.” They gave a final wave, and there was that feeling again, the one Hadvar had felt when he first saw Vi’yathi fight, a feeling that met he could not look away, could not ignore where Vi’yathi went, what Vi’yathi did- he recognised the feeling now, from old children’s tales.The call of destiny that wrapped itself around certain people was sometimes so strong, so thick, that not even the most oblivious would be able to ignore it, and Hadvar felt his heart break one final time for the strange Dunmer, with far too much waiting for them.Ralof’s arms came around his waist, a gentle kiss placed on his cheek.“What’s on your mind?” Ralof asked.“The future.” Hadvar responded, watching Vi’yathi disappear over the bridge, onwards to whatever awaited them, their fate unavoidable.“Just the future.”