A/N: Hello everybody! Thanks for taking a chance on my story! If you're a new reader of Oblivious, welcome! If you're a returning reader, welcome back!

So this is an updated, overhauled, completely revised new version of my story Oblivious. I loved this story, and I had so much fun writing it, but I made the mistake of starting it without any real direction or intent. The story was weak, in my opinion, and plotlines popped up, then went cold. I spent so much time between putting chapters out that, inevitably, I hit a wall and Oblivious just sort of... fizzed out.

But I return. I said once before I'd see this story through to the end, and I will see it done. And you will too.

I have every chapter meticulously laid out and the first half are already completely re-written. Many chapters will be very familiar to my old readers, and others will be nearly completely unrecognisable. I will put them out about once a week, to give myself time to finish the last chapters. I will also leave up the original Oblivious, but I will mark it as complete. I will not touch it. I'll let it die in peace.

On to the story! Oblivious: Redux follows the story of Lydia and the Dragonborn, and their developing friendship and eventually romance. It is set in a series of short stories/one-shots, some longer than others. Some chapters are arcs in themselves, but most are standalone.

Please read and review with any thoughts or criticisms! Every little comment matters and helps me better my writing! I usually respond to every single one, as well, and I'm always open to discussions! Enjoy!

As swift and as violent as a crack of lightning or the roar of a dragon, Lydia was torn from sleep by a distant howl piercing the cold starry night.

She was near petrified for a moment – only a moment, though, and she dazedly pulled the furs closer to her chest in some sort of primal self-preservation, her knuckles almost white with the strain. But she could hear the soft crackling of a fire and see its watery light as it flickered through the grimy hide tent walls and into her lumbering consciousness, cutting strange shadows all around her.

She let out a long, tired sigh.

Wolves. Again. By the Nine, did she ever hate those beasts. Good for nothing shaggy brutes who stole farmer's goats and had an irksome fondness for Nord meat, it seemed. And an irritating tendency to shriek at all hours deemed ungodly for civilised folk.

Her eyes were puffy from sleeplessness and she should have tried to fall back asleep, but in all honesty she had been having a nightmare of sorts and was silently thankful for the wolf's wail. Of course she would never mention this to anyone. Foolish mutts.

So she lay there for a few moments, listening to the fire, trying to forget what had startled her in her dreams. A dragon, it was. A gigantic black beast, shiny white teeth and beady yellow eyes, unfurling wings darkening the sky. She'd never even seen the thing with her own eyes, but the stories from Helgen – and the lack of survivors – fed the imagination well.

She sighed once more, accepting that sleep was nigh impossible while laying there, and with reluctance she threw the warm furs off her body and slowly, stiffly, rose. Lydia wasn't old by any account but sometimes she felt the years pressing upon every healed scar, every old wound. Her back ached from too many nights sleeping on the ground, and lately from sleeping in her armour. She could not afford the comfort in exchange for a surprise attack in the night. For her Thane's life.

She crawled out of the tent on all fours, steel armour scraping against the barren rock, and she stood up with a stretch, pulling out the tautness and smoothing her aching muscles as she breathed deeply of the fresh cool air. She shivered in the breeze and peered around through heavy eyes.

She and her Thane had been on a mission in the Reach for the Companions the past week, and making their way back to Whiterun had them camped on the grassy hills just west of Rorikstead. Soon they would be back in Whiterun Hold, and not a moment too soon. Lydia hated the Reach with a passion. Well, not the Reach, to be exact, but the fact that astonishingly large bands of crazed Forsworn had attempted, many times, to eradicate the travelling duo. And they weren't above night raids on their little camp, hence why the Housecarl had been sleeping in her armour.

Her Thane had decided to pitch their tent near a rather steep cliff, which incited her protests, but she humbly agreed with him after he explained that the cliff meant the Forsworn could only attack from one side. Not the cliff side, he had so helpfully added with that stupid smile of his. Not to mention the large lone pine tree nearby which helped to block out the frigid westerly autumn winds. But she had to admit the view was breathtaking.

The vast open sky created a sense of endless freedom that, though she was used to the sweeping plains of Whiterun, had a… different feel. Wild, feral even, and more alive. She could spot the lights of Rorikstead in the distance, and she thought if she squinted hard enough the fires in Solitude were the cause of those faint twinkling flashes to the north.

Lydia gave the tiniest of smiles to herself. She loved this land. Skyrim was her home. She belonged here as much as the rocks beneath her feet, as surely as the stars peppered across the sky.

She inched a little closer to the ledge to get a better look at the lights to the north, but a voice from the darkness made her jump for the second time that night.

"Don't get too close, Lydia. I really don't feel like climbing down there and scraping you off the rocks."

She twisted round and there was her Thane, sitting on a rock near the fire with a crafty smile on his dark face and amusement glinting in his eyes. She glared at him, once her heart steadied a little. She forgot he was on guard duty.

"Of course, my Thane," she said with a prickle of irritation. "I wouldn't want you to trouble yourself." Thinking of it, she probably shouldn't have spoken to her Thane in this manner, but he had scared her, and he knew it. She tensed, expecting a rebuke.

He merely laughed. So she relaxed.

The man was not one to throw orders around, and he never seemed annoyed with her. Or anyone. In fact, he treated her and nearly every soul they stumbled upon more like an old friend than someone to be wary of. Than a Housecarl. Which was odd, to say the least. Her exhaustive training for this position had entrenched in her mind the fact that her future Thane would most likely be a very large, very mean Nord with a scarred, hardened face and a personality to match.

So one could imagine the shock upon her face as she met her Thane for the very first time and found he was the entire opposite of what she had been expecting all these years. Not that it was a bad thing, but it was… odd. Like the man himself. Like the things he said, and the things he knew, and nearly everything he did.

He gestured for her to come sit by the fire, and she was tempted to simply stomp back into the tent with not so much as a backwards glance, but a particularly cold gust of wind convinced her otherwise. She crossed her arms to keep warm and sauntered wearily over to the fire with another shiver running up her spine. This armour could protect her from the fires of a dragon or from the teeth of any monster, but not from the biting Skyrim cold. No, not even her Nord blood was enough. Not tonight.

She had to sit next to him on the rock as it was the only one close enough to the fire. But she didn't mind. She could still look out over the plains and hills below.

The Imperial was lounging comfortably on the rocks, right on the edge of the firelight, and the Housecarl winced as she sat down next to him. How he was not in pain was anyone's guess.

When she settled down he straightened up a bit.

"You're getting quite the tongue there, Lydia. Soon you'll be able to keep up with me." The light flickered thinly across his playful smirk, revealing his breath in the frigid air.

"Well, my Thane, when one has the pleasure of travelling with such a revered person, she tends to pick up on some of his habits. Admirable or not."

He laughed again, louder this time, and she could no longer hold her anger. He had an infectious laugh, a contagious personality that not even the frigid night could dampen.

"See? Look at you! You make me so proud," he teased, lightly bumping his shoulder against hers. She said nothing.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, both staring into the dying embers and listening to the near utter silence of the night.

Despite only knowing her Thane for a few weeks, she felt… relaxed around him. Comfortable, even. Which, again, was odd. She had expected to be standing at attention the rest of her life, ready at her Thane's every beck and call. To be a voiceless, faceless blank slate in the infinitely more exciting life of the Thane. A background piece. Furniture to hang weapons on, a mule to carry packs. A shield to take the blow.

Not that she was complaining, though. It was nice to unwind sometimes. She never really had that luxury, and she was still learning how to deal with it. Things were easy around this Imperial. Which was hard.

After a little while her Thane broke the silence.

"So. This little trip of ours has been simply riveting. I am loathe to return, you know. Sleeping on rocks and forgoing bathing has been quite the adventure. Not to mention dodging the bands of murderous forest hobos." He glanced sideways at her, waiting for a chuckle or a remark that never came. His eyes slid back to the fire. "But, sadly, all adventures must come to an end. When we get back to Whiterun, I was thinking I'd get Adrianne to patch up my armour. That saber-tooth nearly ripped me in half yesterday. Fix me up before, you know, something else tries to eat me."

Lydia tore her eyes from the embers and they slipped to the rather large gash through the leather covering his chest area.

"A sound plan, my Thane."

"Lydia, please, for the thousandth time, it's Cato. Not 'my Thane'." His voice wasn't irritated or exasperated. It was monotone. He had said this time and time again.

She rolled her eyes and he continued.

"It's going to be expensive. It's a pretty big tear. Sabre-sized, I'd wager," he added with a little smile. "But the damned cat's hide will help pay for it."

She chuckled a little – well, not chuckled, really. More like blew some air through her noise in a mildly entertained way.

Lydia doubted she'd ever forget the horror the cat had caused her yesterday. The feeling of her heart soaring up into her throat, the rush of air leave her body as she watched, wide-eyed and destitute, as the great beast slammed into the Imperial and dragged him into the ground. The sound of the growling, and the helpless cry her Thane gave, and the roar of blood rushing in her ears, under her skin. She had been certain, as sure as the sky was blue, that the tremendous paws had ripped right through his light armour and torn into his skin. And there was one electrifyingly horrible moment as he lay still on the hard ground, the great cat circling and snarling in its primal way. In her rage and fear the Housecarl had thrown herself back at the cat and finally managed to put a sword through it's neck.

Her Thane was alright, though. It had only caused a small cut and a bit of bruising. A few health potions had fixed it. He always seemed to just slip past the danger. Had this uncanny knack of just making it out okay.

She had convinced herself that her concern for his life was merely the product of her oath to protect him, and her fear of facing the Jarl with the news that she had failed in her duties. But she knew there was more than that. Perhaps even more than the fact that they fought so well together, and it would be a shame if she was reassigned a Thane. She was beginning to think she actually liked the man. That maybe his jokes weren't so bad. And perhaps he really wasn't the evil, faithless Imperial bastard him and his kind had been branded.

He glanced over to her. "Thanks for that, by the way. I'd probably be inside the stomach of that animal right now if you hadn't been there. That makes us, what – three and four? Damn," he smirked. "Lydia, go fall off the ledge. I need to save you. Make it even."

She flushed slightly at the compliment, thankful it was dark and cold, but waved it away.

"I am sworn to protect you with my life." He gave her an exasperated glare, but she continued to avoid his scolding. "May I ask you a question, my Thane?"

"Cato, Lydia. But yeah, sure."

"Why do you insist on wearing that leather armour? It tears too easily," she said, nodding to the gash on his chest. "If you wore the heavy stuff you wouldn't need to get it fixed so often."

He smiled again, leaning up with a little groan to grab the long stick he had been using as a fire poker, pushing around the burning wood absentmindedly. "I know. It can be a pain sometimes, and it doesn't really do much against heavy weapons. Or cats, apparently," he smiled. "But I find that it allows me to move easier. To dodge out of the way, I guess. I figure that avoiding getting hit in the first place is better than being slowed down by iron or steel armour and getting all banged up."

It made sense to her, she supposed, though she still preferred her own heavy armour. She felt safe in it. And she doubted that his small stature could even support the weight of heavier armour.

"But when you do get hit –"

"The sabre-tooth was an anomaly."

"A – what?"

He frowned at her. "An anomaly. An… irregularity. An exception."

"Exception to what?"

"Getting hit."

Lydia frowned back at him. She wasn't stupid by any means, but sometimes the man could be downright cryptic.

"I can repair your armour for you, my Thane." He threw her an irritated look. "Cato," she corrected. "I can repair it. I'll do so as soon as we get back."

"Lydia," he sighed through thin lips. He pushed a large log over and the embers flickered up in one big rush. "You don't have to do everything for me, you know. You're going to have a good few days' rest when we get back." She was about to protest when he added, "I'm quite capable of surviving on my own, I'll have you know. I'm actually very good at it. Not to put myself on a high horse or anything."

Right. Well, he wasn't doing a very good job at that. "Then if you don't need me, why do you insist on bringing me along?" More like dragging me along, she thought.

His smile softened and he said, "for the company."

Ah. Well. Her frozen face flushed red again, ears hot despite the cold, and she reached for the stick in his hands. She started poking at the fire for something to do. Anything to do. As long as it wasn't talking. She was good at killing people, but talking to them?

A glowing log turned over and little golden flecks swirled up into the vast inky sky, making it difficult to tell what were stars and what was fire.

He must have realised she was uncomfortable and attempted to change the subject. "Sooo," he drawled, pretending to examine a scar on the back of his hand. "What brings you out of the warm tent on this absolutely lovely Skyrim evening?"

"The company," she retorted, almost without thinking.

His laugh was nothing short of wild. It boomed out across the hills, echoing through the grasses and rocks of the Reach, the sound so foreign but natural here, now, infectious and spreading like a wildfire, and she couldn't help it.

She smiled.

"Ha! Aha! There it is!" he cried out suddenly, startling her. She stared at him, question no doubt colouring her face. "I never thought I'd get to see it!"

"My Thane - " she started.

"Lydia, it's Cato," he cut her off.

"Cato, I don't - "

"You smiled! Just then, you smiled. I don't think I've ever seen you smile."

She froze, a sour sort of taste filling her mouth, and an icy silence filling their little camp.

His laughing sizzled and died, like a spark to water.

"My Th- Cato," she corrected with more than a little sharpness. She was looking into his face, but finding it more than a little difficult. "What in the name of Talos is that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged indifferently, infuriatingly nonchalant. "I'm simply saying that you don't smile enough. You take this whole Housecarl business much too seriously. Lighten up a little."

What? How dare he – how could he –? There were no words in any tongue to illuminate just how livid she was at that moment.

She was performing her duty to the very best of her abilities. She had fought for and trained years for the honour of holding this position. She had been disappointed, truthfully, when she was first introduced to him, but she held her tongue like a Housecarl should. An Imperial? As her Thane? As a Nord hero? As Dragonborn? Everything he did was reflected upon her – everything he was, whether one sided with the Empire or the Stormcloaks. Always eyed with suspicion, always wanted nowhere. And she was sworn to him until the day one of them died. Some God must have had a dark sense of humour.

She had been his pack mule while she followed him across Skyrim on every stupid errand he went on, and saved him every time he blundered, and cooked for him and set up camp and guided him through the wilderness so his pampered southern hide wouldn't swim off a waterfall or walk straight into a labyrinth or werewolf pit. She was tired and cold and bruised nearly every hour of the day. There was no room for play, no opening for fun, no affordance for lax. Yes, she took her job seriously. And he had the nerve – no, the audacity – to tell her to 'lighten up'?

It took every ounce of her brute strength not to throw her fist in his face.

He laughed again, watching the rage and disbelief flash across her face.

"See? You're doing it now. It was a joke, Lydia. I didn't mean it."

No, it wasn't a joke. Not for her. There had been truth behind his words, however shrouded in his eloquent Imperial accent. His laughing was only irritating her now.

He soon figured out that her icy silence meant she was not impressed in the slightest.

He frowned. Opened his mouth to say something. Closed it. Rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, staring off into the night.

Good. He should feel horrible. Because she certainly did.

He blew out a long breath and it twisted into the cold air so thick with tension one could almost cut it with a knife.

"Look," he said, placing the tips of his fingers on her arm in the most hesitant way. Soft, but burning. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

"Hm," she mumbled.

"Honestly."

"It's alright, my Thane. I will try to be less formal in the future." It was stiff, tart. But true. She had no right to be cross with her Thane.

"No, it's not alright, Lydia. I'm sorry. Look, I know you take this job seriously, and that's fine. But you don't have to treat me like the Emperor, for gods' sakes," he chuckled.

Her expression softened. He let his fingers fall and followed her gaze back to the flames.

"I'll be honest. It's weird, you know. I don't like it. I know I'm Thane and all, and – and Dragonborn," he said, the word almost unpleasant on his tongue, "but I just can't get used to it. I've never had people under my control before. Not good at telling them what to do. And you know how clumsy I can be." He smirked. "By the Eight, that would be a disaster. Can you even imagine?"

No, she couldn't. He would probably end up accidentally sending an entire army over the edge of a cliff.

"I'm not going to order you around. You're my friend, and I don't want to do that."

She froze for a second. Friend? Cato thought of her as a friend? She was taken aback, but something inside her softened.

She'd never really had a friend before. Not like him, at least.

He smirked conspiratorially. "Now don't going around telling anyone I said any of that, alright? I can name a hundred people who already brand me as a liar and con artist. Gods, I can just see them now, all with their torches and pitchforks, breaking down my door. Vilkas would love that. Aela too, now that I think of it."

Lydia cracked a sliver of a smile, letting go of a breath she didn't know she was holding. "I'll try not to let it slip, my Thane."

"Alright, I deserved that one. But from now on it's Cato."

"Of course."

He gave a crooked grin, his head tilted a little, the light carving deep pools of dark on his already dark face. A flash of white in the night, except for that spot of black, near the back, where he seemed to be missing a tooth. She liked his smile, she figured. It suited him. And she found herself smiling back.

After a moment of silence he stood up and stretched.

"Well. I think I'm going to bed now. It's after midnight, and my watch is nearly over. Is that alright?"

She nodded, once again staring into the fire, but she could make out his slender form from the corner of her eyes.

"Alright. 'Night, Lydia."

He stepped around her and over to the tent, his leather boots making hardly a sound. Just before he bent down and crawled inside he paused, looking over his shoulder.

"Hey," he called softly. She looked up into his face, and his bright brown eyes, so different from the pale blue of the Nords she was accustomed to, caught her off-guard, not for the first time. "What I said earlier, about your smile. I meant it. You should do it more often. It… suits you." He smirked again and went inside the tent.

The rest of the cold windy night passed with Lydia gazing into the flames pondering what her Thane had said.

Maybe this was okay. Maybe everything wasn't so bad, in the end. Maybe he wasn't so bad.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she shouldn't be so serious. And maybe she should lighten up a bit.

She smiled at the thought. He was right. It did suit her.

They had walked the whole morning, right from dawn, in comfortable silence. In fact, they'd hardly spoke at all while folding up the tent and putting out the fire. The most they'd done was sneak a few curious glances at each other, him no doubt wondering where he stood after last night, and Lydia – well, truthfully, Lydia wondering the same thing.

Her mind was still contemplating over last night's conversations, and she stared at the ground, her boots crunching in the frosty grasses. She didn't notice when they finally crossed into Whiterun Hold and the rolling hills gave way to flatter plains where the giant mammoth still roamed free. As such she was not paying attention to where she was walking. Some root or rock or bone jutting out from the frozen ground, hidden by the grasses, caught her foot and pitched her forward. Her packs were full of useless junk her Thane had burdened her with, so she could not manage to catch her footing. She was dragged to the ground.

Cato heard her fall, and he turned around to see her struggling to stand again. He rushed over, and Lydia suddenly found a tanned hand offered in her face. Her hands were cold and wet, and so were her knees, and her pride was more than a little wounded. But she took it gratefully and he pulled her up.

They stood facing each other for a moment, hands still together, and a blush found it's way to her face as she smiled again. Gods, what was wrong with her? Couldn't she face him without turning into a beet? Apparently not.

He returned the gesture and said, "See? It's not that hard."

He let go of her hand and turned around, leaving her there smiling in the grass with his touch still burning her hands.

A/N: Hope you liked it!

Cato's name is pronounced Kay-toe, and it's Roman, as he is an Imperial.