Skyrim One-Shots

Ralof x Reader(Female) ~Chasing You~

Ralof stared at the calm river, gently rushing by. HIs blue eyes were distant and dull, normally curved, smiling mouth set emotionlessly. Straight blond locks brushed about with the smooth wind blowing across Riverwood, though the man dressed in a stained white tunic and brown trousers and muddy boots made no effort to tame them. 

He just gazed numbly. That's all he did nowadays after the war. After you. He worked, he ate, he shit, and he thought of how pathetic he'd become. He was once a strapping young man. Women used to blush and giggle and laugh and stutter when around him, now all he ever saw was his sister and her husband. Same old town. Same old thing, day after day. No longer did he have a sword at his hip, no longer could he fit into his old blue armors. 

Granted, that was mainly because his shoulders had widened considerably and he was nearly a head taller than before. He was just a boy, then. Barely nineteen and the last to actually grow into who he would be for the rest of his life 'til he grew old, body-wise. He hadn't been able to grow a beard, for the love Dibella! 

Now? He was thirty and for the record, he still wasn't over you. Though, he now had a beard (mainly due to his lack of care to trim it, his sister told him he looked old with it but he couldn't bring himself to care to trim it). He still regretted not taking the partner of his dreams, every damn night his head fell upon a cheap bed of his small house. You had a spouse, now. You had someone. You weren't going to be his. He had lost his chance a long, long time ago.

No kids, still. He wondered why. Were the rumors of loud yelling and screaming every night from your home in Whiterun really true? What about the frequent gossips of hearing shattering glass? Were you too endangered to have children? Had you just fallen out of the idea? 

You had told him once how much you wanted children, and the fact you still didn't have any concerned him. Didn't matter how you got them, you just wanted a few at the least. You had told him about wanting to take in orphans, show them love and care and a guiding hand. You always wanted to give everyone memories that left a smile on their face, and raising an orphan would certainly fulfill your wants.

He wandered past those thoughts. He asked the gods if he would ever see you again. Would you not recognize his face? Would you have forgotten his name entirely? Do you think of him often or not at all? As a friend or as a foe? Would you run to embrace him, or would you force a smile and shake his hand? Ralof didn't know if he wanted to hear the answers to these questions.

You had a partner, he told himself. You had all you needed, he told himself. If you needed him, you would find him.

But for now, it was back to work.

He snapped himself out of his haze and stood on his feet, brushing off any wood dust off his trousers that may have come off of the stump he had sat on before sighing and walking back to the blacksmiths. Alvor had given him the smithy on a deal that a quarter of the profits Ralof made would go to him and his wife now that their daughter had grown up and had a ring on her finger. 

Alvor helped about whenever his back allowed him to. After he had gotten shot with an arrow during a bandit raid a few years back (the guards had quickly quelled it, but the damage was already done to the former blacksmith) Ralof couldn't imagine the kind of pain the man went through on a daily basis. 

Nords were a hardy people, and it was heart-breaking to see such a fine and damn strong man admit he was unable to do what he once was. Still, the blacksmith had trained Ralof and often sat and watched him, either making casual talk, giving pointers, or barking at him that he was going to fry off his arm if he kept fucking spacing out. Quoted exactly as Alvor said it.