What if She Couldn't (Ralof x Reader)

Chapter 9: Recovering the Lost

~~~ (Y/N) POV ~~~

"Bryn? BRYN? Where's Ralof?" I yelled, shaking him awake.

Bryn rubbed his eyes sleepily and turned to me.

"Isn't he outside..." he mumbled.

"No, he's gone! WHERE DID HE GO BRYN TELL ME!" I exclaimed. I was really worried, and I'm pretty sure I scared Bryn out of his wits by screaming.

He seemed to acknowledge why I was worried and sat up quickly.

"Well let's go find him then!"

In my excitement, I rushed outside and my leg got caught on the fabric of the tent, bringing it down on Bryn. Oops.

"Sorry Bryn!" I said, helping him out of the wreckage.

"It's okay," he said, "I know you're worried."

"I really am, Bryn," I sighed, "I really am."

We surveyed the camp for any signs of struggle. No faint smell of trolls, no arrows, nothing! Just an imprint in the dirt where his sleeping roll was, and footprints that stopped abruptly.

"We're missing a horse," Bryn observed, "Do you have any idea where he would go?"

I racked my brain for any ideas. Helgen? No, definitely not. Whiterun? Obviously not. Riverwood...

"I think I know where he is..."

~~~

"Excuse me, miss?" I asked a random citizen, "Have you seen Ralof? He has long, blonde hair and gold eyes. And he was wearing a Stormcloak cuirass. Did anyone matching that description come here?"

"I haven't seen him," the citizen said, "Check the inn. That's usually where the new people go."

"Oh, thank you!" I said.

I grabbed Bryn's arm and dragged him into the Sleeping Giant Inn.

"Has a man wearing a Stormcloak cuirass been here recently?" said Bryn.

The innkeeper nodded, then angled his head towards a room on his right.

"You might not want to go in there," the innkeeper said, "He's kinda..."

"Kinda what?"

"Kinda... drunk. I sent someone in there to check on him and he tried to stab them, yelling something about the Imperials and someone named (Y/N)."

"Oh boy."

I turned to Bryn.

"Bryn, you better stay out here. It'll be better if I'm the only one that he sees."

Bryn looked hesitant, but agreed. "I'll rush in if I sense trouble."

I nodded, and cautiously opened the door.

"IMPERIAL SCUM!"

I ducked just in time as Ralof chucked his sword at me.

Bryn's hand flew to the hilt of his dagger, and he looked at me nervously.

"Ralof, it's (Y/N). I'm your friend. And a fellow Stormcloak. I'm not an Imperial."

I stepped fully into the room, leaving the door open just a crack for Bryn.

"(Y/N)? I thought you were dead!" Ralof sobbed. Man, he was really drunk.

"I... died?"

"Yeah, in the Battle of Whiterun. You got stabbed by some Imperial milk-drinker... I tried to protect you! I failed," Ralof sniffled.