Prologue

17th of Last Seed, Sundas

My name is Lydia and I am the newly recruited Housecarl for the Thane of Whiterun...

I will admit that such an occupation didn't come to mind when I was just little whelp, swinging my dagger at those hay-filled dummies at Jorrvaskr. The Companions there would often tell me that I'd make a fine warrior one day. My young, fiery heart jumped at the thought of it. Being able to call myself a warrior as all true Nords wished; to live and die by the blade and walk the fabled halls of Sovngarde...

But there's a fine line between bravery and stupidity... I've heard tales of the average lifespan of a Companion... I did not harbor a deathwish...

I could've become a guard. A protector whose sworn duty is to protect the city and all her glory.

But the pay was abysmal...

And so I became a housecarl and why not? In exchange for the strongest of meads in the city and the most delicious foods, I simply had to protect the life of Jarl of Whiterun, the neutral hold in all of Skyrim. That is until the Thane of Whiterun arrived... My memory of it was shaky at best... All I know is that one minute I was enjoying a nice, cool bottle of mead and the next minute I'm being rushed to greet this...

Khajiit...

Now, I don't want to come off as prejudice. I've certainly never had particular problems with Khajit before... then again, as a general rule of most, if not all the holds in Skyrim, their kind is to be barred from entry due to their likelihood to be involved with criminal activities. Which basically translates to "we don't like them" in Skyrim. Truth be told, the Khajiit are one of the most... disliked races in the province, behind the Altmer that is.

That didn't stop Zashir and his brother, however, from waltzing right into Whiterun with ramblings of a dragon sighting near Riverwood.

Yeah, imagine that. A. Dragon. Near Riverwood. That was after word of Helgen being destroyed by a dragon. No one wanted to believe it. No one wanted to hear it.

And then Zashir and Damen show up, freshly covered in "giant's blood" (don't even get me started on that), spouting about the same damned Dragon. Most of the guards in Dragonsreach alone assumed they were skooma addicts... I'll admit I initially thought so, too... but then I realized I wanted to believe that they were making it up. That what happened at Helgen had nothing to do with dragons.

But I was wrong. We were all wrong. And when a guardsman posted at the Western Watchtower came tumbling up the steps, wrought with blood and sweat, eyes as wild as the addicts themselves, we all knew then... We all knew what that meant. He didn't even have to say it.

The Dragons have returned to Skyrim, maybe even all of Tamriel. These were truly dark times indeed...

Or so we thought... Those damned Khajiits didn't even stutter in their steps when they were told to investigate... They even appeared all for it! Can you imagine?

And so all of Whiterun held its breath, as Irileth, her platoon, and the two Khajiits battled the dragon at the watchtower... Its roars could be felt from the Bannered Mare not to mention the sheer, thundering booms from them as well.

It was the day of reckoning inside the Bannered Mare, many huddled with their loved ones, assuming the worst possible outcome; the dragon was coming to destroy Whiterun and everyone within it...

I wasn't so keen on cowering, but I knew that there was no way any of us could defeat a dragon. None of us were gods. None mages. Even the Companions seemed to have realized the vanity of the situation as they all took position near the gates of the city, each of them ready to give their lives for us... and I joined them, too. Sure, I wasn't a companion, but this was my city! And I'll be damned if I died on my knees just because of some legend decided it was my time to go!

...

Heh heh...

But the dragon never came... in its place, Irileth, the remains of her platoon and both Khajiits returned instead; each looking worse for wear... but alive nonetheless. Alive... and... apparently the Dragonborns.

Two of them. Two!

The entire hold wouldn't stop talking about it, actually. How the dragon was slain and how the guards witness them absorb it's very soul... No wonder they looked lost when they trudged on in. How would anyone really take that news?

As if finding out the Dragonborn of old tales isn't some story wasn't enough, the whole ground shook as the voice of Gods themselves boomed from the mountains. Now I'm no religious fanatic - I already knew of the Greybeards - but to actually hear them? Hear them? From the mountains no less?

Incredible.

It was about there where I asked myself, how could this day get any weirder?

Oh, the Gods had an answer to that, as well. And not long after, the Jarl did something I thought he'd never do... He made them the Thane of Whiterun. More specifically, Zashir, the black and white Khajiit. His brother self-appointed himself as his bodyguard even though I was technically also his bodyguard... well, "housecarl" rather. The difference between them being the formality.

Why am I writing this down, someone would ask?

Well...

"Carlotta put you up this, didn't she? I'm sorry, but that fiery widow is mine. She just doesn't know it yet." The young, brash Nord that often spoke without thoughts folded his arms at the Khajiit, who didn't look too pleased with his response.

"Zashir believes Mikael is delusional." The tavern was uncomfortably quiet as the two interacted. The owner of the bar, Hulda, wiped a mug unconsciously, keeping her eyes trained on both the bard and the Khajiit. Years of owning a tavern meant that she generally knew the outcome to this.

"Hmph. What did you just say? All I heard was the sound of jealousy. As if sweet Carlotta would fall for someone like you." There were a few snickers amongst the drunken patrons that were scattered about. Hulda frowned at the statement. Generally, she'd dismiss Mikael if he was getting a little above himself than usual, but he was also the bard of the tavern - there weren't that many bards roaming around nowadays. On the plus side, the whole hold knew of him already. No sense in changing that now...

She was more worried about the Khajiit rather. The fact that he was a Khajiit alone made her watchful than usual. Khajiits were notorious thieves, after all. Yet here this one stood, owning the title of Thane... She couldn't quite wrap her head around it.

The Khajiit smirked, Hulda narrowed her eyes at his hands, which remained at his sides. Mikael didn't seem to care that he was openly insulting a khajiit - a khajiit that has claws - but she wasn't about to have a bloodbath in her inn. Not if she could help it at least.

Zashir merely chuckled, "What the bard mistakes for jealousy, Zashir would use "defending", but understands if the charming Mikael does not know of such a thing."

Let's just say Whiterun has certainly become a lot more "interesting" now.

~ Lydia

End of Chapter