Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, for that belongs to Bethesda Game Studios.

PLEASE READ A/N: This only something I did for the heck of it. In no way these oneshots are in order with some exceptions. Only a few of these oneshots are based on in game events (or rather events that happened in my play session). This could be considered a LydiaXDragonborn, but it will be pretty light in most cases for this is my first fanfic…*cough*hint*hint*review*cough*. I also will be try to be lore friendly as possible (there will be some artistic liberties and references, specifically gear wise, however), but if you spot any error, grammar or story wise, be sure to point that out too. I'll leave my Dragonborn nameless (maybe for a bit) so I won't interpose on your depiction of Dovahkiin (Don't ask, I just have this odd pet peeve of the nameless being named. Not that it's wrong or anything…but still). Well enough of my rant. Enjoy!

First Impressions

It all started on what seemed to be a routine, if not, bland day. It would've stayed that way if it wasn't for the honest to gods DRAGON that chose to attack the Western Watchtower thus leaving the whole town of Whiterun and its guards (Lydia included) jitterier than a Khajit going through skooma withdrawal. Fortunately, Whiterun was untouched; the only signs of the supposed mythological beast were the trails of smoke coming from the ruins of the Watchtower.

Lydia, as well as most of the other guards, would've simply dismissed the attack as an organized bandit raid, but any idea to do so was quickly erased by a roaring, thunderous explosion that would have seen to be originated from the mountains. As quickly as the old rumors were died out, new ones sprung in place, being whispered to and fro across the town like wildfire.

"By Ysmir…What was that?"

"Was that the Graybeards? It sounded like it came from High Hrothgar."

"The Graybeards? After all this time? Who could those old fools be calling for now?"

"Dragonborn?"

"Nonsense, the last of the Dragonborn died before the Fourth Era and it was the Septims no less!"

Lydia only lightly shook her head in bewilderment as she made her way into Dragonsreach, swinging open the massive doors that made the entrance. Sitting down at the long, dining tables, she gave out a gentle sigh of relief, grateful to be able to tuck into a hot meal after a long day of training and being on the lookout for a mythical, overgrown, fire breathing lizard. Glancing over at Jarl of Whiterun, after taking a bite of her salmon steak, she couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at sight of the newcomer that was speaking to Balgruuf, the mentioned Jarl.

The stranger was obviously a traveler or an adventurer of sorts, indicated by the grey hooded robe that were covered with straps and buckles that held a leather spaulder on his right shoulder but steel plates on his left. A raw wolf pelt, cut and sewed, was wrapped around his upper, left chest like a scarf, barely covering the aforementioned steel plates. A red, woolen sash was wrapped his waist, also held in place by the leather harness. What seemed to be an apothecary's satchel was slung over his shoulder, running parallel with the strap that held his right shoulder pad in place. Steel gauntlets of Nordic design adorned his arms and well fitted, but mud ridden, hide boots protected his legs. Whoever he was, he was no stranger to combat as indicated by the steel sword and daggers belted to his hip as well as the hunting bow that was slung alongside a quiver, fully stocked of arrows.

She paid little heed to the conversation between the newcomer and the Jarl hearing a few words like Dragonborn and Graybeards. Nonetheless, she still dismissed it as rumors (or "Jarl Business" as some of the guards may put it), opting to finish the rest of her meal in blissful silence. Her restful chewing was short lived; however, as soon her ears caught the words:

"By my right as Jarl of Whiterun, I proclaim you Thane of Whiterun. It is the greatest honor that's within my power to grant. I assign you Lydia, as your Housecarl…"

Lydia at this point had dropped her fork, nearly choking whatever food stuff that was in her mouth at the time. She glanced over at the newly proclaimed Thane, surprised to see that his face of disbelief and confusion mirroring her own. Jarl Balgruuf continued on.

"…And a weapon from my personal armory as your badge of office. I'll also notify the guards…"

Lydia's ears by now had blocked out the Jarl, full attention on her new charge as well as boss. Her shock turned into silent, brief mirth as the new Thane held the heavy, two-hander Axe of Whiterun with some visible discomfort, an obvious sign that he was not trained in the use of heavy weapons. Nonetheless, he gave a small, appreciative nod to Balgruuf, silently dismissing himself as he slung the large axe alongside with his quiver and bow.

Lydia's humor was short lived as her thoughts of having such a weakling of a Thane turned into worry as she was somewhat perturbed at the fact that she was the one who had to be at the said weakling's beck and call. Quietly praying to the Nine (or was it Eight?), that her charge was not one of the snobbish mages like Farengar and the High Elves she had encountered over the years, who saw those uneducated in the arts of the arcane (or at least was not one of them) beneath them, or a sniveling thief who happened to be in good fortune of the situation.

Her prayers were answered in the form of a tap to the shoulder, springing her from her mental maelstrom. She jumped, surprised on how easy she did not hear the person coming, despite of the hard wood floors that made Dragonsreach. She spun around, hand flying to the handle of her sword, only to be greeted at the sight of her new Thane, who was wearing a face that held the expression (for lack of a better word) "uhhhhhh", as well as having a hand up, finger pointing out, still in the position to tap her shoulder.

However his hood was down, allowing Lydia to have a better view of his face. At a first glance, she would have mistaken him as an Imperial, but he had a slight slant to his brown eyes, giving them a unique, almond shape. Despite of them being "slanted", they had an open, youthful look in them, similar to that of a curious scholar. His black hair was cut short, but was oddly spiked up with only a few bangs falling forward, touching his forehead. Overall, he was clean-shaven, looking no older but perhaps younger than Lydia herself. He was a man, no doubt, but which one? His appearance reminded Lydia of some outside race that tried to invade Tamriel thousands of years ago. What was their name again? Akavar? Akavia?

But if his mysterious origin was not enough to baffle Lydia, it would have been his voice that did the trick.

"Ummm…Lydia, is it? You're my Housecarl, right?"

Despite of the simplicity of his questions, it was his accent that (much to his amusement) made Lydia's eyes bug out larger than her shield. It wasn't that his accent was exotic like the Khajit or had the distinct pitch of a Mer race, but it was rather how Nord it sounded.

Bowing her head out of courtesy after covering her shock, she answered.

"Yes, my Thane. It is an honor to serve you."

He nodded, apparently satisfied with her reply. He moved on, asking questions about his title of Thane and her duties as Housecarl. She answered, trying her best to keep her distaste on his ignorance of such facts out of her statements. She must've failed, for by the end of his questioning, one of his eyebrows were raised, giving her a light, questioning look.

The look was gone however, when he made his way towards the doors; only slight nodding his head towards the doors to follow him. She obeyed, following her boss down the stairs from Dragonsreach. It was by the time they got to the Whiterun's entrance that she asked where they were going. Whoever this man was, he seemingly possessed a good store of surprises, granting her another one as his answer.

"High Hrothgar."