Chapter Text
As far back as Hadvar could remember, Ralof always had a knack for getting him into trouble.
Enticed by the first snowmelt of the year, Hadvar let Ralof drag him out of his uncle’s house and across the bridge, scampering along the riverbank as they made their way upstream. Their laughter turned to puffs of steam in the crisp air, winter’s chill still clinging to the shadows, frosting the grass and hardening the ground, but anywhere the sun touched the earth was wet and alive with the promise of spring. Hadvar’s shoes were caked in mud by the time they’d made it to one of their favorite summertime spots: a shallow valley that cut into the mountainside, scattered with thick trees and boulders perfect for climbing.
Hadvar looked up the steep hill in awe, a shiver running down his spine as he caught sight of the stone arches of Bleak Falls Barrow glinting in the midmorning sun. He kept the Barrow in his sights, side-stepping along the valley floor to follow Ralof upstream even further. If he turned his back, the Draugr might come charging down the mountain and run him through with one of their ancient swords. He swallowed, the fear turning his mouth dry.
“Come on!” Ralof goaded, far ahead of him. “Why are you walking weird? You look like a mudcrab.”
“Shut up!” Hadvar snapped, finally managing to tear his eyes from the Barrow. “Where are we going anyways?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Hadvar let out a nervous huff of laughter, but trotted to catch up. “I hate surprises.”
“I know. Because you’re a milk-drinker.”
“I am not!”
“Are too.”
Hadvar gave Ralof a shove and his friend laughed, turning his forward momentum into a run. Hadvar ran after him, his muddy shoes clinging to the wet ground as if they were trying to hold him back. They stumbled along the riverbank, laughing breathlessly until they reached Ralof’s ‘surprise’.
It was a cave.
Hadvar shivered as they stepped out of the sun and into the shadow of the overhang. A cold breeze brushed his hair away from his face, like the death rattle of a corpse, smelling of mineral and earth and wet clay.
“I don’t wanna go in there,” Hadvar said.
“You’re such a milk-drinker!” Ralof said again.
“I am not!”
“Are too!”
Hadvar got right up in Ralof’s face, puffing up his chest and pressing their noses together. “Am not.”
Ralof just smiled wickedly, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue. “Are too.”
From within the cave came a sudden noise, causing both of them to jump. It was a deep, stuttering growl causing every hair on Hadvar’s arm to stand on end. Ralof pushed himself in front and unsheathed the small dagger that seemed to be permanently affixed to his belt. Hadvar’s uncle, Alvor, had made matching daggers for the two of them. Hadvar had left his home by accident…
“Ralof don’t,” Hadvar whispered, his stomach sick with fear.
The growling got closer.
Ralof had his arm out as if to keep Hadvar from moving forward. “Stay behind me. I killed a wolf with my pa three weeks ago.”
“Please!” Hadvar tugged on the back of Ralof’s shirt, panicked. “Come on!”
The growling turned into a loud bellow, and a massive river troll lumbered forward out of the shadows, teeth bared, meaty fists swinging at its side.
“RUN!” Ralof screamed.
Hadvar slipped in the mud as he scrambled backwards, nearly falling if it weren’t for Ralof catching him by his shirt and hauling him forward. They sprinted out of the mouth of the cave and back down the river. Hadvar could hear the troll right behind them, grunting as it pursued, heavy footfall pounding into the wet earth.
Ralof grabbed Hadvar by his arm and jerked him away from the riverbank and the valley towards a massive fallen tree. Hadvar recognized it on sight. It had a hollowed trunk that they’d used as a fort last year. Hadvar pushed all of his will to survive into his legs, sprinting alongside his best friend as if the very wind of Kyne’s breath was at their backs. They dove into the tree and scrambled as far back into the trunk as they could squeeze. Hadvar felt splinters stabbing into his palms as he crawled, panting and wheezing as the passage narrowed.
The troll roared at the opening of the tree and attempted to shove its way into the opening, wood scraping and cracking against its thick, hairy shoulders.
Hadvar was trapped between the back of the trunk and Ralof. He gasped for air, breathing so hard his lungs felt fit to burst. Ralof still had his dagger drawn, pointing it at the troll with a shaking hand.
Unable to squeeze itself into the tree trunk, the troll pulled back, roared again, and reached a long arm into the trunk in an attempt to grab them. With a yell, Ralof lunged forward and drove the dagger into the troll’s hand. The thing shrieked and yanked its hand back, taking the dagger with it.
Ralof pressed himself harder against Hadvar, and instinctively Hadvard wrapped his arms around his friend’s chest, pulling him as far away from the opening as possible. They were silent, breathing hard as they listened to the troll raging outside. There was a loud thump above them as it climbed onto the tree trunk, followed by an even louder whack. Whack-WHACK. It pounded against the tree, scratching at the bark, trying to tear its way in.
“We’re dead,” Hadvar whimpered.
“Shut up,” Ralof said. “No we’re not.”
The troll continued to claw and beat against the tree, but the thick trunk held strong. Hadvar buried his face against Ralof’s shoulder, willing himself not to cry. After what felt like an eternity, the noises of the troll’s rage fell away, and only the sounds of their labored breathing in the hollowed tree remained. Birdsong returned to the woods outside along with the babble of the river, and as Hadvar raised his head he could make out the grinding of the sawmill far off in the distance.
“Do you think it’s gone?” he hazarded to whisper.
Ralof shook his head, his blonde hair tickling Hadvar’s nose. “Trolls are stupid, but they’re also smart.”
Despite everything, Hadvar managed to squeeze out a laugh. “Kind of like you.”
This earned him an elbow to the stomach.
“I just saved your life!”
“Yeah, after you led me to that cave!”
“I didn’t know there’d be a troll in it!”
Ralof scooted away from Hadvar, putting space between them.
“Well, thanks to your surprise, now we’re stuck in this tree,” Hadvar grumbled.
“We couldn’t out-run it,” Ralof reasoned. “We’d be troll shit right now if it wasn’t for me.”
“Pfft, we wouldn’t be troll shit,” Hadvar said. The foul word felt strange in his mouth—Ralof always made cursing sound cool and easy in a way Hadvar had difficulty mimicking. “We’d be in its stomach. We’d be troll shit tomorrow.”
Ralof huffed irritably before crossing his arms and curling up against the side of the trunk.
Silence passed between them as a bird trilled loudly nearby.
“So… now what?” Hadvar asked.
“We should wait a while. Make sure the troll gets bored and wanders off.”
Hadvar shifted to lean against the opposite wall of the trunk, facing Ralof. He picked at the mud on his pants. “You lost your dagger,” he said after a moment.
Ralof groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “My pa is gonna kill me for that.”
“Uncle Alvor can make you another one,” Hadvar said. He continued to pick at his pant leg. “Or you can have mine.”
“Don’t give away your weapon, Hadvar,” Ralof scolded. “That’s no way to get to Sovngarde.”
“Well, you lost yours protecting us. And I didn’t even bring mine. Seems fair,” Hadvar argued, heat rising in his cheeks. “Besides, I’m useless with it, so…”
Ralof kicked Hadvar’s boot. “Shut up. You’re not useless.”
Hadvar just sighed, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on knees. He wanted to argue, but he knew it would only make him look even more pathetic than he already felt. Ralof was braver than him. Smarter, too. He would have just kept running forever until the troll caught him, like a dumb scared rabbit. He wouldn’t have even thought to hide here.
“What kind of sword do you want when you grow up?” Ralof asked out of nowhere. “I think I want a greatsword.” He held his arms out as wide as he could in the cramped tree trunk. “Big as Ysgramor’s.”
“Ysgramor had an axe.”
“Bigger than his axe, then. With carvings up the blade and a big sapphire in the hilt.” Ralof tucked his hands behind his head with a satisfied smile.
“I want two short swords so I can cut down twice as many enemies,” Hadvar said. “Plus, they’re lighter and you can move faster. They’ll call me Hadvar… Wind-Steel.”
“That’s a stupid name.”
“Is not!”
They argued about sword fighting and battle names, about how they’d both be soldiers one day, like their parents had been in the Great War. Hadvar swore through unwanted, bitter tears to avenge his parents for dying at the hands of the golden elves, while Ralof assured him that they’d died with honor and that he’d see them both in Sovngarde one day. They talked about Talos, about joining the Companions, argued over the lyrics of Ragnar the Red and which of them would take Matilda as a wife, and, before Hadvar knew it, the sunlight had begun to fade.
They slunk from the tree trunk, peering cautiously around the shadowy valley. The troll was nowhere in sight. They ran as fast as their feet would carry them back down the river and across the bridge, sprinting into town just as the last of the sun’s rays slipped behind the distant mountains and the lamplighter began to make his rounds. Ralof thumped Hadvar on his back before turning at the Sleeping Giant Inn and heading to his house. Hadvar watched him go, chewing on the insides of his cheeks. He didn’t turn to head home until Ralof had disappeared inside his own house, offering Hadvar one final wave.