A/N: Hi. Just popping in to make a note. Every dragonborn is different, of course. My dragonborn will differ story-to-story. This dragonborn in particularly is based off a concept I had (and I don't want to spoil it) that connects Skyrim to Oblivion, so there will be some ESIV references.
From the Day Booke of Lydia
Chapter One: New Lordship
(Days 1 - 10)
Day the First, under my new Lordship
I was called to a new assignment, to serve under a new thane by the Jarl's orders. My thane was the one that defeated the dragon that attacked the western watchtower. Supposedly my thane is dragonborn. I expected a large Nord man with thick-plated armor and countless battle scars. I was wrong in the assumption, completely wrong.
The person who approached me was no Nord and certainly no man. She was shorter—a Breton and wore dirty, enchanted robes. A mage, with a bow no less. And she looked no older than twenty-five, but there is a sort of weariness about her I cannot explain. She has seen much and experienced much—that much I can easily tell. She's a master of destruction and yet has never visited the College of Winterhold. She is a master marksman and handles her bow with a foreign familiarity, as if it had never belonged to her.
She doesn't talk much except to ask questions—lots of questions, and she absolutely refuses to give her name. She seems awkward, to say the least, about having me under her command. When I asked her about it, she merely explained she's not one to demand service from others, that she's usually the one serving. Then she mumbled something about a servant named Eyja she had. She does a lot of that too—mumbling. I do not know if she intends for her words to be inaudible or if it is merely habit for her. Whatever the case, I find it to be rather irksome.
She stares too. Sometimes at the street, the landscape. Sometimes at me. When she does stare at me, I find it rather unnerving. Despite her obvious youth, she carries herself with maturity that suggests she is far older than everyone in Skyrim.
Day the Second
My new thane may be a master of destruction but she has an infuriating habit of not paying attention to her rear flank while she is travelling. We ran into packs of wolves and without me, this dragonborn would have been dead.
But I have learned more about her. Apparently she was in Helgen when the first dragon attacked. The dragon's presence had saved her from the executioner's block. The Imperials captured her crossing the border from Cyrodiil to Skyrim—caught in an ambush of Stormcloaks. Wrong place, wrong time. I called her "unlucky." Then she shrugged and said she had a lucky knack for staying alive. I couldn't argue with that, but her arrogant, cryptic nature annoys me.
Day the Third
She does not go to the Greybeards, or not yet she assures me. Her patience seems endless as she wants to explore the expanse of Skyrim and visit the College of Winterhold first. I want to tell her that time is a commodity we cannot afford, that one does not ignoresa summons from the Greybeards, but I am her housecarl and remain silent. And she defies tradition by ignoring the summons. Our destination is uncertain, our path aimless. She wanders, really, from place to place, asking people things.
Day the Fourth
No entry.
Day the Fifth
Killed bandits today—a whole camp of them—and avoided a giant. My thane on the other hand apparently has an interest in alchemy and will not stop tasting mountain flowers and eggs—no matter how many times I tell her about the poisonous ones.
Day the Sixth
Orphan Rock was her destination after all. Two damned necromancers with their shock traps and a hagraven. I went for the hagraven and it knocked me down. When I looked up, my thane had managed to kill all three. I was surprised and a little embarrassed. I've never cared much for magic.
She took the hagraven's dagger so I supposed she is after some eldersap like the priestess said. I know it is a fool's trip, but I do not say as such.
She took off her hood while she used the hagraven's enchanting table. It is the first time I've seen her golden hair. She keeps it down with parts of it braided so it's out of her face. She also wears a circlet of sapphires—enchanted to help her retain her magicka.
We're staying at Orphan's Rock tonight even though there is a Stormcloak camp nearby. She healed me with some spell and now she is looking at the horizon as the sun sets. Despite our victory here—her victory here—she still looks forlorn and defeated. Can she not be grateful for once?
Day the Seventh
On our way back to Whiterun. She asked me about my past, my family. I stubbornly refuse to tell her anything until she tells me about herself—even though I have no family and nothing to tell. But still. It is a point of pride. I don't think asking for her name is too much.
We were delayed by more bandits and more wolves. I hate the forest.
Day the Eighth
I have noticed for the first time that she wears an amulet of Akatosh. Usually I just see her fingering the hollow of her collarbone but now I know it is not her collarbone she is touching. It is her amulet. Funny, I did not take her for the religious type.
When I told her that, she just scoffed at me and said, "I've lost my religious long ago…among other things." She said no more on the matter, even though I can tell there's a story behind that.
We're finally free of the damnable forest, but that just means giants and mammoths on the plains. Perhaps even dragons now.
I have taken the first watch. As soon as she was asleep, I considered going through her pack. I didn't, but the idea is tempting.
There's just something about her that frightens my bones and doesn't sit with the natural. In my heart, I know she is older than what she looks. Much older. But she is a Breton, not an elf, and I think it's safe to say she isn't a vampire.
The firelight is dying. I must go.
Day the Ninth
We are at Whiterun once more. In the short time she's been here, my thane has managed to buy a house—Breezehome—and return the hagraven's dagger to the priestess who was surprised we even found it, much less made it back alive. The priestess asked my thane to go to the Eldergleam sanctuary and retrieve the eldersap herself, so I suspect we will not stay long.
We passed by Heimskr wailing on about Talos at the risk of his own life. My thane looked on, intrigued and sad. As if she knew a bit about the subject despite having lost her religion.
I felt my anger rise toward the Thalmor for banning Talos worship and told her that Talos was a Nord and he deserved a place in the pantheon as any other. I bit my tongue after that, fearing that I might have evoked her wrath. She might be with the Aldmeri Dominion after all.
Then she surprised me by telling me that she had been to Sancre Tor—the burial place of Tiber Septim, Talos—in Cyrodiil. I wanted to ask more about it but held my tongue when she volunteered no new information.
Day the Tenth
We have left Whiterun, but she does not head to the Eldergleam sanctuary. More aimless wandering. Until we chanced up-on Fort Greymoor and it was infested with bandits.
She is odd and out of place, preferring the company of her own thoughts. It is something I have grown accustomed to, but I cannot deny her ferocity in battle. Against foes, she is fearless and maintains an uncanny resourcefulness. Though she is no Nord, I am honored to fight next to her, to serve her.
And then after the battle was won, she puzzled over the equipment and the loot. Their weapons and supplies. "This will make good money," she says, and then she looked to me with an idea in her eyes.
After expressing she is uncomfortable with me saving her life, she has finally found a use for me.
I am Lydia, the pack-mule.
-Strigi