(Sorry for the delay, and thank you to the anons that commented, you are lovely.) ___
In the dark before dawn he stole away from the manor, quiet as a sneak-thief. Once his gear was stowed in his saddlebags he looked in on Blaise and Lucia, sleeping soundly even over the whistling of the wind that blew in through new gaps in the roof above. He pulled the blankets over them more securely and watched them nestle down into the warmth, and after a long moment's quiet he headed back down the stairs without waking them, to where Lydia waited with his axe. "I'll be back when I can," he promised, and didn't say, if I can. "It might not be soon."
"I'm not going anywhere," she said, and with lingering look at his axe added, "But I have to say, I wish I could."
"I wish you could too," he admitted, already weary at the thought. It had been simpler before, fighting together, knowing with every step he took into danger that he wasn't alone. There would be no such reassurance in the battles ahead of him. "But…"
She followed his gaze upward to where the children slept, and sighed. "But." When they said their goodbyes she handed over a parcel with the usual array of salves and poultices, and afterward he headed for the road, toward High Hrothgar, and an end.
**
It seemed like something out of a legend, when he heard talk about it later: the peace accord forged, the dragon yoked, Sovngarde welcoming him in. The bards left out rather a lot, he thought: they didn't sing of the icy bite of winter as it roared in early and snarled his progress, or the miserable state of the roads that ate up days at a time, or how impatience had whetted his temper. In the bard-song and gossip there was no mention that he'd been so disgusted with the delay he'd nearly dragged Ulfric and Tullius both back to High Hrothgar like pigs on a rope, or how every day that passed had sharpened him to a strange bleak sternness, as foreign a thing as the dragon souls stretching themselves against his insides.
But once it was over the numb gray fog of war began to lift, relief drained away the worst of it, and he set his sights for home. Of course, after that, everything went wrong. Snow in the southern pass was so high and thick he couldn't ride through up by Helgen and had to turn back around. The horse went lame. Bears attacked, then spiders, then vampires, with numbers and ferocity unlike anything he'd ever seen. He limped into Whiterun sore and hungry, gave the Jarl the shortest report of his life, and was back on the road in an hour.
The brief afternoon thaw didn't last, and the land began to freeze again as the sun slid toward the horizon so that the snow crusted over with ice as the cold wind skimmed down from the hills. He navigated the last stretch of road with all the care he could manage, leading the poor horse slowly, the pair of them frozen and exhausted as they'd ever been. The sight of the manor through the trees seemed almost a dream, some paradise nestled in the hollow of the hills like it rested in the palm of a great hand, sheltered from the wind and the world.
"Pa!" he heard, and Blaise hurtled down the slope toward him, face lit with happiness. "You're back!"
He didn't get a chance to respond before the boy dashed off to the house, and in a moment Lucia and Lydia both emerged in a hurry. Lucia launched herself at him with a shout of "Pa!" and hugged him so hard he had to catch himself from falling over. He patted her shoulder, clumsy with fatigue, and when he looked to Lydia he could couldn't tell if the expression on her face was happiness or disbelief or both.
"Where were you?" she muttered when she finally made her way into his embrace, into the crook of his arm and then under it as she steered him toward the house.
Any number of answers would have been honest, but the one that made if off his tongue was, "Sovngarde."
She hesitated, the disbelief on her face draining away slowly as she looked at him. "I think you'd better come inside."
He made to sit down in the first chair they passed but Lydia led him on, up the stairway to bed. "You fixed the roof," he noted distantly, the lights beginning to waver in his vision, and then he fell into bed and slept until the next afternoon.
Re: A Peace Unexpected 5/6
___
In the dark before dawn he stole away from the manor, quiet as a sneak-thief. Once his gear was stowed in his saddlebags he looked in on Blaise and Lucia, sleeping soundly even over the whistling of the wind that blew in through new gaps in the roof above. He pulled the blankets over them more securely and watched them nestle down into the warmth, and after a long moment's quiet he headed back down the stairs without waking them, to where Lydia waited with his axe. "I'll be back when I can," he promised, and didn't say, if I can. "It might not be soon."
"I'm not going anywhere," she said, and with lingering look at his axe added, "But I have to say, I wish I could."
"I wish you could too," he admitted, already weary at the thought. It had been simpler before, fighting together, knowing with every step he took into danger that he wasn't alone. There would be no such reassurance in the battles ahead of him. "But…"
She followed his gaze upward to where the children slept, and sighed. "But." When they said their goodbyes she handed over a parcel with the usual array of salves and poultices, and afterward he headed for the road, toward High Hrothgar, and an end.
**
It seemed like something out of a legend, when he heard talk about it later: the peace accord forged, the dragon yoked, Sovngarde welcoming him in. The bards left out rather a lot, he thought: they didn't sing of the icy bite of winter as it roared in early and snarled his progress, or the miserable state of the roads that ate up days at a time, or how impatience had whetted his temper. In the bard-song and gossip there was no mention that he'd been so disgusted with the delay he'd nearly dragged Ulfric and Tullius both back to High Hrothgar like pigs on a rope, or how every day that passed had sharpened him to a strange bleak sternness, as foreign a thing as the dragon souls stretching themselves against his insides.
But once it was over the numb gray fog of war began to lift, relief drained away the worst of it, and he set his sights for home. Of course, after that, everything went wrong. Snow in the southern pass was so high and thick he couldn't ride through up by Helgen and had to turn back around. The horse went lame. Bears attacked, then spiders, then vampires, with numbers and ferocity unlike anything he'd ever seen. He limped into Whiterun sore and hungry, gave the Jarl the shortest report of his life, and was back on the road in an hour.
The brief afternoon thaw didn't last, and the land began to freeze again as the sun slid toward the horizon so that the snow crusted over with ice as the cold wind skimmed down from the hills. He navigated the last stretch of road with all the care he could manage, leading the poor horse slowly, the pair of them frozen and exhausted as they'd ever been. The sight of the manor through the trees seemed almost a dream, some paradise nestled in the hollow of the hills like it rested in the palm of a great hand, sheltered from the wind and the world.
"Pa!" he heard, and Blaise hurtled down the slope toward him, face lit with happiness. "You're back!"
He didn't get a chance to respond before the boy dashed off to the house, and in a moment Lucia and Lydia both emerged in a hurry. Lucia launched herself at him with a shout of "Pa!" and hugged him so hard he had to catch himself from falling over. He patted her shoulder, clumsy with fatigue, and when he looked to Lydia he could couldn't tell if the expression on her face was happiness or disbelief or both.
"Where were you?" she muttered when she finally made her way into his embrace, into the crook of his arm and then under it as she steered him toward the house.
Any number of answers would have been honest, but the one that made if off his tongue was, "Sovngarde."
She hesitated, the disbelief on her face draining away slowly as she looked at him. "I think you'd better come inside."
He made to sit down in the first chair they passed but Lydia led him on, up the stairway to bed. "You fixed the roof," he noted distantly, the lights beginning to waver in his vision, and then he fell into bed and slept until the next afternoon.