When I first started Skyrim last November, I was blown away – not just by the gigantic world, but by the characters within it. One of the most noticeable of these was Lydia – the housecarl that the player obtains by becoming Thane of Whiterun. Due to a bug in the release version of the game, however, the player was unable to marry her. This really bothered me – out of all the housecarls, she's easily the most interesting. This bug led to a long session of forming a headcanon where the bug would make sense, and this fic is part of that result. Hope you enjoy.

Also, the title is a reference to this quote by the English politician and writer Joseph Addison:

Great souls by instinct to each other turn,
Demand alliance, and in friendship burn. (The Campaign, line 102)

Standard disclaimer: I own nothing here, save for my Dovahkiin. Don't sue.

To Each Other Turn
Chapter One

Leaning against the decrepit Breezehome, Lydia watched the comings and goings of Whiterun's citizenry. Every day, the same thing. In and out, Adrianne at the forge, sniping between the Battle-Borns and Grey-Manes...by Talos, you'd think they would realize how idiotic their little feud actually is one of these days. She had made this a habit from when she was a young girl and her father would take her to the local market, and she had continued doing so after his death as a way to keep his memory alive. There was little about a person she couldn't make out, given enough time. Though, if you're being honest with yourself, that's more due to you not being accepted than anything else-

Her self-flagellation was abruptly cut short as the town drunkard slammed into her and tumbled to the floor. She reached down to help him, and recoiled as he slapped her hand away. "Don't need yer help, freak," he muttered. "I know all about your little hic preferences, so does everyone, and it's hic disgusting. Should just wander and let a Sabre Cat end it for ya."

Lydia sighed as he walked off. "Yeah, apology accepted. It's quite all right that you ran into me, and you still felt it necessary to insult me," she said to herself. As she resumed her position, she saw a new face heading through the crowd. In itself, that wasn't unique – Whiterun had plenty of visitors to Dragonsreach, for instance, or young men and women seeking to join the Companions in Jorrvaskr. What was unique was the man himself, Lydia thought. The man was easily a head and a half taller than most Nords, and was built more like a cave bear than any kind of man. His arms were twice the size of her own thighs, and his torso would have looked normal on a small giant instead of a man. He moved with comfort and ease through the crowd despite his sheer mass, eyes focused on the stairs leading up to the Wind District and beyond. Lydia focused as he moved closer. Steel gray hair and beard, maybe older? No, no lines around his face or eyes. Prematurely gray, that's it. Eyes are gold, the eyes of a hawk. Maybe an archer? She turned her gaze to the man's armaments. An ax and a bow, but no shield? That armor isn't well-made enough to forgo a shield. Are those...scorch marks? By Shor, they're on everything from his shoulders to his boots. A smith, then?

She was so caught up in her own thoughts she had failed to notice that the stranger had shifted his course, and was heading straight for her. She only realized it when he had stopped directly in front of her, and Lydia had to shake her head to realize he was actually speaking to her. "Excuse me?"

"It's alright," the man said. His voice was rich, a deep baritone that rumbled from the base of his mass. "Which way is Dragonsreach? I have a message for the Jarl, and it's very important."

Hints of a Cyrodilic accent, despite clearly being from Nord stock. "You're on the right track. Up those stairs, to the Wind District, then up the next set to the Cloud District." Lydia smiled and pointed as she spoke, and it amazed her that the stranger was apparently wholly devoted to her answer.

"Thank you much," the man replied, and turned to walk away. Lydia had just leaned back against the wall when he turned and extended a hand. "Erick Blizzard-son, son of Rickard. Pleased to meet you...?"

Without realizing it, Lydia automatically leaned forward and took his hand. "Lydia, daughter of Stellan. Pleased to meet you as well, Erick." The two shook once, twice, and then released hands.

The stranger – Erick, she reminded herself – reached into a satchel on his belt, and pulled out a small band of woven mountain flowers. He placed them in her hand. "Take this, with my thanks. My hands were anxious on the walk here from Riverwood."

Lydia looked more closely at the gift. The flowers were simple red and blue mountain flowers, with a purple bloom mixed in at irregular intervals. Woven together, they made something not unlike a circlet. "Thank you, but I can't accept a gift just for helping someone– "

"Of course you can," Erick said, a hint of a smile on his face. "Besides, I have the feeling you needed some good news today. I hope to see you again, Lydia."

Lydia watched as Erick moved away from her, through the crowd and up the stairs. She stopped watching him only when the man's form disappeared beyond the stairs into the Wind District. She glanced down at the floral circlet in her hand again, and smiled to herself. Well, I suppose new things do happen once in a while...