Lydia's Burden

Chapter 1

You are not the Dragonborn

Summary: Sometimes, the hero of the story falls before the final chapter. As the Dragonborn's Housecarl, Lydia is sworn to carry her burdens. Future Female Dragonborn x Lydia.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls.

Lydia rummaged through her armor, pulling out a worn piece of parchment, and glared at the offending paper. Sighing, she unfolded it and once more, read its contents.

Dragonborn-

I need to speak to you. Urgently.

Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I'll meet you.

-A friend

She clenched the torn note and scrunched it up into a ball, dropping it onto the dirt, muddy from the drizzle of rain that had been on and off for the past few days. As Lydia approached the Sleeping Giant Inn, she was welcomed by the faded murmur of the town's residents drinking to the bard's jaunty rendition of Ragnar the Red, after what had most certainly been yet another hard day's toil and drudgery. Without hesitation, she swung the door open, her ears assaulted by an immediate crescendo in what can only be called noise, as the clatter of tankards, rowdy slur-like singalong, and strum of the bard's lute merged together into one sustained dissonant chord.

"Oh there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red, who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead…" The inebriated villagers hollered as the bard continued, while Lydia pushed past with a practiced ease she had no doubt picked up during her many times frequenting the Bannered Mare back at home. It helped that Lydia was no fragile lady, either. Her time spent training at the barracks made sure of that. However, the closer she got to the innkeeper, her tough façade begun to waver, until all she had left when facing the innkeeper was a thinly stretched false sense of bravado. Nonetheless, she held herself up as befitting a Housecarl.

"I'm here to rent the… attic room?" Now she just looked like a fool. There were no stairs to be seen, and certainly no attic in this Inn. Uncertainty was replaced with volatile anger, as she begun to realise that all this time, she and her Thane had been misled. Her clenched fists shook with barely concealed rage. The innkeeper laughed.

"You haven't been drinking too much mead, have you, girl?" He taunted, as he filled up another tankard for one of his patrons. "Hey, Delphine! This little lady here, reckons she is going to rent the attic. Ha! What do you think? We set up a bedroll up on the roof?"

"Thank-you, Orgnar. I'll take it from here." She glanced at Lydia. "Attic room, eh? Well... we don't have an attic room, but you can have the one on the left. Make yourself at home." That being said, she led Lydia, who hesitantly followed, into the room. It was an innocuous enough room, and would make decent lodging for a weary traveller. Lydia supposed she would make do with the accommodation before heading back to Whiterun to inform her Jarl of her failures. She was not looking forward to that at all. Lydia was abruptly pulled out of her musings, however, as the sound of the door shutting brought her attention to Delphine, who had drawn her dagger, pointed accusingly at Lydia's own chest.

"You are not the Dragonborn." Lydia's breath stilled.

Authors note: This is my first proper story, so be kind. I would love to hear from any readers who like my story :)

Sincerely,

Melisanotaku