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Songs of Skyrim [Ralof x Half Elf!Bard!Reader]

The civil war has ended, with the imperials emerging victorious. They give the remaining Stormcloak soldiers the choice to vow to never raise their swords to them again and they will be pardoned. Ralof takes that deal but regrets it greatly. He moves to Windhelm because he cannot bear the disappointment of facing his family because he felt cowardly, and he grows cold and pessimistic. A year later, a new, beautiful Half-Wood Elf bard moves to Windhelm from the Bards College in Solitude and changes his life.

This is chapter 1. If you wish to keep track of this series, visit my AO3. Chapter 2 is already posted.

It's been a year since the war ended.

A year since Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak was murdered by the imperials.

A year since the imperials decided to show their “love” for skyrim by pardoning former stormcloak soldiers as long as they vowed not to raise their sword against the Empire.

But Ralof knew it was so they could have more abled bodies to draft should the Thalmor raise their swords against them.

Nonetheless, he hated the fact that he took the vow. He hated how cowardly he felt at that moment. So much so that he couldn’t bear to see his family in Riverwood. He couldn’t face the hypothetical disappointment that came with his family rooting for him and the Stormcloaks losing. Despite knowing that Gerdur would hate him should he have decided to get executed instead of just taking the deal. He just had to give his family something to be proud of.

He now had a house in Windhelm. He wanted to help Brunwulf Free-Winter rebuild and reform Windhelm. While Jarl Ulfric had a special place in his heart, he understood that despite being a good leader of the army, he often ignored his city crumbling beneath him. Though even remotely thinking of Ulfric negatively made a small pang of guilt hit his heart at his dead King. Ulfric had a lot of flaws, however. He was never a fan of how he treated non-nords. Or about how he let the murder of the women in his city go on for so long that a stranger had to come and fix it. Or about all the abandoned or crumbling buildings and walls from the Oldest city in skyrim that he decided to go years without beginning renovation. So why not, in his honor, help rebuild his city that he left to his people?

The tavern was buzzing, though gloom still lingered in the air. It was like news of the late Jarl’s demise had just spread through the city. The dark elf bard, Luaffn, is strumming her fingers across her lute, singing Ragnar the Red. A jovial song about an idiotic story. Ragnar was a loose lipped drunkard and Matilde was a murderous hot head. Ralof started to realize a theme in all of these stories. They are all about flashy, symbolic, victories, from situations that were most likely a lot more boring. Always telling about the glories and fortunes of war. Hiding the hideous truths of it all. Drafting innocent boys and girls into these things and traumatizing them so that they waste their lives giving into skooma or drinking just so they can forget all that they have seen. It was disgusting. Though, then again, Ralof may have become more cynical, pessimistic and cold with each passing day since the war ended. But that doesn’t get rid of the truths in it.

The singing ended with scattered applause. Ralof took a sip of the Honningbrew mead that the Tavern Wench had poured into his tankard and took a bite of the stale bread and cringed. Everyone in the room seemed preoccupied with something, whether it being reading, talking to friends, or somberly looking into their tankards and blanking out. Despite the city being in a state of reform and new beginnings, it was like the soul had been sucked out of it. The war distracted the citizens here from the crushing realities that came with living in Windhelm and now that it was over, with their jarl not emerging the victor, people had to come to terms with said reality. Nils, the tavern cook, was replacing the logs in the fireplace and feeding the fire. Ralof walked over towards him, from his table. “Nils. Do you have any fresh bread?” He questioned the old man.

“None currently made,” Nils shrugged and continued feeding the fire.

“Well could you make some, please?” Ralof raised an eyebrow.

“Absolutely, just give me a day and a half,” Nils responded sarcastically while standing back up.

“A day and a half?”

“Yes, boy. Bread takes more than a day to make.” Nils chuckled. “Though I will say I’m not surprised. You war heroes hardly recognize the honor that comes with keeping you all fed,” Ralof flinched at the mention of being called a war hero.

“Hi, are you Nils?” A soft voice spoke from behind Ralof. He turned to see a shorter, beautiful woman with long hair put into an updo. She wore fine clothing that seemed to be from a different province, though the furs inside of it indicate it was made in or for Skyrim. She wore jewelry that complimented her eyes and a jeweled hairpin that held a most likely stubborn piece of hair. She looked rather racially ambiguous, but her ears and sharper features made it known that she was an elf. Ralof never really had a preference for elven women, but even he could admit that she had a look to her that none of the women in Windhelm did. She was holding a painted lute with dragon designs carved into them.

Nils took her hand and shook it, “I am. You must be (y/n).” The elf smiled which made Ralof’s stomach turn a bit. Luaffn came up to the group.

“Ah you must be my replacement for tonight,” She smiled, “I hope you’re as good as they say you are. It's a tough crowd here in Windhelm.” She said before walking away

(Y/n) nodded and strolled to the front of the tavern common area. Ralof looked from her to Nils, who had a smug look on his face. “Who in oblivion is that?” Ralof asked.

“Our new bard. We can't keep only one bard here, especially with the increase in tourism after the war. Elda made me get a new one from the College in Solitude.” Nils explained, “They say that she’s one of the best lute players they have. Apparently can sing too. Though I’m not quite sure their policy on customers falling in love with said bards,” Nils smirked. “She is quite a beauty for an elf,” Ralof rolled his eyes and returned to his seat. The new bard sat on a tall stool and positioned her lute into a playing position.

The tavern was still very loud and didn’t seem to notice the elven woman at the front, aside from a few bigoted glances.

“Hello, people of Windhelm,” She addressed loudly. The Tavern went silent and stared at her, “My name is (Y/n), I am but a new bard at this beautiful hall. But I am also a harbinger of the ancient stories told by tongue.” She started to play a tune on her lute, as she began, “We live in a time of sorrow, but this is not the first time. For the Nord heroes that came before us knew such sorrow,” The tavern seemed to be very interested now. An intro before a song? Is this the type of music they play in Solitude? She sure knows her way around a crowd. Ralof regarded in his head. “Allow me to tell you all a trying tale of the Ancient Blades, who freed both man and mer alike from the tyranny of the dragons that had enslaved and preyed on us all.”

Then she began singing.

The story she told was that of the Ancient Tongues who shouted the World Eater out of the sky with the power of their combined Thu’um. This song was very obviously a Nordic song. Which was fitting, as Windhelm was one of the first established Atmoran cities. But, it had a different feel to it. It reminded Ralof of the stories their mother used to tell him and Gerdur as children. When she would tell them about how men truly suffered under the dragon regime. They didn’t charge into the battle and instantly crushed them with Nord might. They struggled. And through that struggling, was when man and mer found the will to come together and fight a common enemy. And with their combined determination, they won. These stories were realistic. Relatable. They didn’t have tons of showy symbolism and unneeded tales of overpowered brava that’s sole purpose is to instill a false sense of honor into youth. They were honest.

Ralof could hear Roliff and his goons at the table next to him, making snide, racist comments about the elven bard that went from plain ignorance to downright disgusting threats. He shot a glare at them, that he knew would pass right over them, but he couldn’t help it. Threats like that against any woman, elf or not, were disgusting. He swore some of the men in this city had no honor or even manners. And he was born into a millworker’s family. He moved closer towards the front, tankard in hand, to better hear the bard.

She continued her tune, while eyeing the crowd with mystery as she told the tale. Everyone was engaged in one way or another. Either leaning in their seats to listen to this new bard, or acting as if they didn’t enjoy her singing.

“If Alduin is eternal, then eternity’s done. For his story is over and the dragons...” The bard took a long pause. The entire tavern was silent. She then strummed her lute one last time.

“...are gone.”

The tavern stayed still for a bit, then erupted with applause. The bard stood up and took a small bow, before returning to the stool.

“Newer” songs in Skyrim usually take a while to travel throughout the snowy province. Windhelm was to the very east, so it was most likely the tavern’s first time hearing that tune.

Luaffn came back up to the front, this time with a drum. (Y/n) regarded her then nodded. She started to play a jovial, familiar tune on her lute, which the dark elf bard followed with an upbeat rhythm on the drum. The crowd looked around at each other and then got up. One by one, people started dancing and drunkenly grabbing partners.

The tavern seemed a lot livelier than before. Nils was right, she was a damned good lute player. Luaffn paused her drum playing, which led the other elven bard to go on a complicated, fast, solo on her lute. Her passive facial expression moved into a much more entertaining one. She had a bright smile on her face, as she finished the solo, without breaking a sweat. Luaffn, for once, looked like she had fun while performing, as she picked up the beat again with (Y/n)’s finished solo. People cheered at the music, then continued dancing. As the two elves finished the song, the tavern burst into cheers. The tavern was usually packed to the brim every night with both Windhelm’s non-mer citizens and tourists, but you could barely tell how stale the air was. There were cheerful spirits in the air, and now you could fully tell how many people were truly there. Ralof has his negative opinions of Solitude, but if this is how bards over there perform, he would take the occasional vacation there more often. There’s nothing like good music and stories to lift an apathetic heart.

The two bards started another tune, but Ralof didn’t stay. He went downstairs to the bar to order actual food. As he sat on the barstool, he could still hear the stomping and cheers, with very little instrumentals leaking through the commotion. Elda poured Ralof an Ale as he dropped a few septims on the counter.

“Full house tonight, huh?” Ralof observed the change in atmosphere.

“It's always a full house.” Elda leaned against the bar while looking up at the ceiling, “I will say, I never can trust an elf. But Nils sure does know how to pick a good bard,” Ralof took a sip of the ale, before taking a deep breath in.

“The woman looks like she comes from good pockets. How were you all even able to afford such a bard?”

“All of them solitude bards look like they dove face-first into nobility. S’why so many of them are so entitled.” Elda stirred the soup behind her, “You’d have to ask Nils on that one, Ralof.” She took a sip of the soup in the pot before turning back to Ralof. “Want some potato soup?” Ralof nodded and handed Elda more septims, “Nils left me with no choice but to finish this damn soup. But I guess someone has to chop the firewood, and it sure isn’t gonna be me,” She placed a wooden bowl of potato soup in front of him, “Careful now, its hot,”

After a few minutes, the song ended, which led to another eruption of applause. Someone began walking down the stairs from the upper common area. “Thank you madam for this opportunity to perform for such a lovely crowd,” (Y/n) spoke very clearly.

“Heading home so soon?” Elda regarded her sarcastically.

Ralof turned to face her, “I don’t blame you. It takes the right tune to make a tavern full of Nords lively, and if you don’t stop early, you’ll be there until dawn,” She smiled warmly at him, which made his face warm up. She waved goodbye to the innkeeper and the veteran and left.

“Told you. All of them. Plain entitlement,” Elda crossed her arms.

“Come on, Elda. She just called a tavern full of Windhelm citizens' a lovely crowd’. She doesn’t have a single bone of entitlement in her,” Ralof chuckled.

“The elf only performed three songs. It’s not even Midnight yet!”

“Probably because she spent all day traveling to Windhelm from solitude. I would be ran through a long time ago.” Ralof took another sip of his ale. Behind him, Roliff and his friends came stumbling down the stairs. They had wicked smiles on their faces and were walking rather fast towards the exit. This left a bad feeling in his stomach. They swiftly exited the inn. Elda didn’t seem to notice. But he was a soldier. Finding someone with bad intentions was one of his most useful skills.

“Hey...uh… Elda” Ralof called to the old innkeeper without removing his eyes from the door, swinging close.

Elda turned to him, “What?”

“Do you know where that bard might be staying?”

“Probably at that dark elf ‘cornerclub’. '' She said the last word mockingly, “I’m glad she took the hint her kind wasn’t welcome here- where in oblivion are you going?” Ralof dashed out of the door of Candlehearth Hall, and jogged towards the southern entrance to the Grey Quarter."

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