"I used to be sweet on a girl from Helgen," Ralof spoke softly, then trailed off, his mind on Daina rather than the prickly thief and quiet prisoner in the cart with him.
Daina, what happened to you? Are you still in Helgen? Have you wed a farmer and raised little farmer boys? Or little singing girls, with their mother's sweet voice? Ralof sighed. I suppose I'll never see you again, my dear, sweet Daina. I'm sorry I never came back for you.
The thief started squawking like a startled pelican as the carriages drew along a gang of Imperials and a headsman with a massive axe. Ralof shook his head: the panicky Lokkir was never going to survive. Ralof started to look about him, hoping to see some way to get out, preferably with the Jarl, and maybe that prisoner, the unfortunate stranger had no business being there in the first place.
The thief panicked, fled, bound hands, past a girl in a doorway - Daina? Ralof doubted it. Just because he'd had her in his mind's eye, his memory was playing tricks on him.
And now Hadvar, his former childhood playmate was peddling platitudes to the sorry condemned stranger, and there! Out of the corner of his eye Ralof spotted a woman with hair the same shade as Daina's, wringing her hands, and visibly shaking at the sight of the bound Stormcloaks. It must be her. So you never forgot me, either? Daina, I'm so sorry, Ralof wished she could hear his thoughts.
The idiot Gunjar protested the rites and raced to Sovngard ahead of them all. Ralof was sorry that Daina saw the man's fanaticism in the face of death, and hoped he did not appear the same in her eyes, for all he was proud to be one of Ulfric's chosen.
And then the prisoner was at the block, Hadvar promising to return their ashes to their home, when chaos erupted and a dragon appeared.
As the Imperials and Stormcloaks fought to survive and keep the civilians out of the dragonfire, Ralof lost track of Daina. He hoped she ran before the dragon brought the Keep crashing down.
Eventually he made it back home to Riverwood, and stayed put in the Gerdur's home to recover his wits and his courage. Ralof wondered what had happened to his sweet girl, but Helgen was a lost cause now. Bandits would probably take it over, as no sensible Nords, nor even the Imperials would dare risk bringing the wrath of the Black Dragon down twice on the same place. Ralof stayed in his sister's home longer than perhaps he should, hiding from the Imperials, from the dragons, from Ulfric's orders...
Until, one day a soft hand tapped the door. Ralof asked Hod to answer - just in case it was one of the Empire-loving Whiterun guards.
"Ralof? Is- Did Ralof of Riverwood live here? I was from Helgen, and I wanted to see where he grew up."
Hod made his excuses and left.
"Daina?"
"Ralof. You lived," Daina tried to smile through tears. "I don't know if you remember me, but I used to be sweet on you. I used to sneak you Juniper Mead."
Fill: Sweet on a Girl from This Town
Daina, what happened to you? Are you still in Helgen? Have you wed a farmer and raised little farmer boys? Or little singing girls, with their mother's sweet voice? Ralof sighed. I suppose I'll never see you again, my dear, sweet Daina. I'm sorry I never came back for you.
The thief started squawking like a startled pelican as the carriages drew along a gang of Imperials and a headsman with a massive axe. Ralof shook his head: the panicky Lokkir was never going to survive. Ralof started to look about him, hoping to see some way to get out, preferably with the Jarl, and maybe that prisoner, the unfortunate stranger had no business being there in the first place.
The thief panicked, fled, bound hands, past a girl in a doorway - Daina? Ralof doubted it. Just because he'd had her in his mind's eye, his memory was playing tricks on him.
And now Hadvar, his former childhood playmate was peddling platitudes to the sorry condemned stranger, and there! Out of the corner of his eye Ralof spotted a woman with hair the same shade as Daina's, wringing her hands, and visibly shaking at the sight of the bound Stormcloaks. It must be her. So you never forgot me, either? Daina, I'm so sorry, Ralof wished she could hear his thoughts.
The idiot Gunjar protested the rites and raced to Sovngard ahead of them all. Ralof was sorry that Daina saw the man's fanaticism in the face of death, and hoped he did not appear the same in her eyes, for all he was proud to be one of Ulfric's chosen.
And then the prisoner was at the block, Hadvar promising to return their ashes to their home, when chaos erupted and a dragon appeared.
As the Imperials and Stormcloaks fought to survive and keep the civilians out of the dragonfire, Ralof lost track of Daina. He hoped she ran before the dragon brought the Keep crashing down.
Eventually he made it back home to Riverwood, and stayed put in the Gerdur's home to recover his wits and his courage. Ralof wondered what had happened to his sweet girl, but Helgen was a lost cause now. Bandits would probably take it over, as no sensible Nords, nor even the Imperials would dare risk bringing the wrath of the Black Dragon down twice on the same place. Ralof stayed in his sister's home longer than perhaps he should, hiding from the Imperials, from the dragons, from Ulfric's orders...
Until, one day a soft hand tapped the door. Ralof asked Hod to answer - just in case it was one of the Empire-loving Whiterun guards.
"Ralof? Is- Did Ralof of Riverwood live here? I was from Helgen, and I wanted to see where he grew up."
Hod made his excuses and left.
"Daina?"
"Ralof. You lived," Daina tried to smile through tears. "I don't know if you remember me, but I used to be sweet on you. I used to sneak you Juniper Mead."
"I remember, Daina. And I'm still sweet on you."