Disclaimer: All characters (except for my Dragonborn) belong to Bethesda. Thanks for letting me play!
It seemed like an age had passed when she was just a normal Nord crossing the border back into her homeland after a few years away as a mercenary, when she'd been captured by the Empire and nearly beheaded because some stupid Jarl thought it would be a great idea to murder the High King and start a fucking civil war. After escaping she later discovered that she was Dragonborn and ended up traveling all over the country before killing Alduin in Sovngarde.
Kjirsten still woke up sometimes, stunned by how rapidly her life had turned around once her blood was revealed. Of course, there were days it didn't feel like a gift. She'd killed many people to get to where she was now – some of them heartily deserved it, but most of them were just caught in the crossfire of a bloody civil war. Men did things they regretted when times became desperate; unfortunately, many of those desperate people she met didn't live long enough to think on them.
Huffing grumpily, she rolled out of bed, breathing deeply the smell of Lydia's cooking. Eschewing her usual armor the Nord rifled through her wardrobe and donned a pair of doeskin pants dyed butter yellow and a cotton shift with a light green jacket. Today she planned to sit in Jarl Balgruuf's court as his Thane, instead of gallivanting around the country looking for trouble. Her nimble fingers combed through her long blonde hair and tidied her sleeping braid into a braided bun with the help of some hairpins she'd splurged on in the Capital.
"Horker stew before court! Nothing can get me down today," laughed the Dragonborn as her huscurl ladled a hefty portion into a bowl and passed it to her.
"Politics and an empty stomach never get along, my Thane." The women talked and broke their fast until the sun rose a little more in the sky. "It's nearly eight, my Thane. The Jarl's court will begin business soon."
Nodding in resignation, Kjirsten handed her bowl to Lydia and bid her good day as she exited the small house. Whiterun was such an open city, probably because the citizens trusted in the strength of the stonewalls that had never been breached. But Ulfric Stormcloak was sitting like a vulture in Windhelm waiting for Whiterun to lower its guard enough so he could claim to be the first in history to do just that.
The Dragonborn had to admit that she agreed with many of Ulfric's ideals, especially freeing Skyrim from the Thalmor, but Balgruuf understood that blindly throwing punches wasn't the way to get what you wanted. He hated the Thalmor as much as any of them, but the Empire wasn't responsible for every action of the Aldmeri Dominion. Just as the "enemy of my enemy is my friend" so too could it be the "friend of my friend is my enemy" and knowing when to sit still and when to strike were vitally important in such situations.
Her feet carried her by rote up the street and through the town center with unseeing eyes. So lost in thought was she that when she bumped into a wall of steel, she was startled and felt her body falling to the ground. Reaching out to catch herself her hand instead wrapped around a thick arm that had materialized around her waist and righted her.
"I'm so sorry. I wasn't watching were I was going…" Kjirsten's voice broke as she looked up at the person she'd practically fallen over. He was a massive dark haired Nord, wearing the special wolf armor of the Circle Companions, and intense grey eyes that were boring holes into her. She'd never seen a man so large, not just in height, but breadth. Her face flamed as they silently regarded one another. Sweet Mara, I'm in trouble.
His deep, but soft voice brought her out of her reverie. "Don't be sorry. I'm not." He smiled then, crinkling the tanned skin around his eyes, but still giving him a wolfish expression when his lips pulled apart. Holding out his hand to shake hers, Kjirsten felt the loss of heat on her waist and was even more mortified that she hadn't even noticed it there. "I'm Farkas, one of the Companions."
Attempting to recover her dignity she gave him a strong shake and inclined her head diplomatically. "I'm Kjirsten, Thane of Whiterun." She deliberately didn't mention she was Dragonborn – it always changed the way people treated her. Stepping back slightly for some much needed distance, she continued, "I'm sorry again for bumping into you, but you must excuse me, I'm late for court in Dragonsreach. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Farkas, perhaps we will see each other again."
As she fled as quickly as courtesy allowed up the stairs into the Wind District she didn't see the way that his gaze hungrily followed her or hear him whisper, "Oh, I'll make sure of it." Njada pushed off the post she'd been leaning on outside the general goods store with an aggravated sigh.
"Are you done perusing the city's 'merchandise' now so we can go finish this damn mission?" Farkas glanced at the angry way his fellow Companion flicked her shield for emphasis and smirked.
"Jealous?"
"Pffft! Hardly. I just want to get the job done and be back in Jorrvaskr by sundown tomorrow, that's all." He chuckled darkly as the warrior stomped down the road expecting him to follow her and not realizing that he could sense her conflicting emotions. Sparing one more glance up the hill he readjusted the weight of his greatsword and headed out of town for his mission.
Kjirsten had collected her composure by the time she reached the interior of the Jarl's palace. Giving her jacket a final tug to smooth any wrinkles she strode confidently into the main hall, bowing slightly to Jarl Balgruuf and nodding crisply to his steward, before taking the chair provided for her off to the side. She sat and listened as the Jarl heard pleas from his citizens for aid or prisoners for mercy – he granted both where he could. Then Proventus launched into an hour long explanation of the Hold's current finances, giving his advice and defending it against the protestations of Irileth. She was very grateful when Jarl Balgruuf abruptly ended their pissing contest and recessed court for lunch.
Once everyone was seated silence mercifully descended as they ate. Farengar, the court wizard, was sitting on her left hand side. Normally she didn't like the man, but after they completed their lunch he showed her a couple handy tricks to make soul gems last longer on her enchantments so they didn't deplete as quickly. "Thank you, Farengar." He simply nodded and went back to his research by way of dismissal.
Jarl Balgruuf met her outside Farengar's quarters. "Kjirsten, don't worry about court for the rest of the day. Proventus and Irileth are apparently only interested in arguing for their own sake, it seems." He rested a weary hand on her shoulder and gave her an awkward pat. "Thanks for coming though. I appreciate you taking your office seriously."
"My Jarl." She waited for him to walk away before taking her leave. The sun was blinding after being inside for hours, so she took a moment to adjust them and joke around with the guards outside.
"I used to be an adventurer like you, then I took an arrow to the knee."
Kjirsten laughed loudly. "Yes, Ronar. And how is that arrow treating you as she warms your bed every night?" The man smiled broadly.
"I'll never tell," he replied with a cheeky wink. She clapped him on the back.
"Smart man. It seems you will live to share another night with your charming wife. Tell Helga I said hello." Still chuckling lightly Kjirsten entered the temple for a blessing of Kynareth and some quiet meditation.
Court always wore her down simply because the song and dance of politics was exhausting. She admired those strong enough to rule and effectively see to the needs of an entire Hold. As Dragonborn, she was not destined for that path – her path was more strike first, ask questions later. She walked up to the shrine and left a small dragon's tongue flower to honor the Lady of the Storm Voice. The shrine lit up at the offering enveloping her in the sweet wind of Kynareth, the blessing filling her soul with warmth and lifting her heavy heart.
"My Lady, I do not feel that I am worthy of this gift, but everyday I am grateful for it. Grant me a favorable wind at my back as I move through the world and a strong voice against my enemies." The Dragonborn smiled softly at Danica Pure-Spring as she left the temple and headed home.
Lydia was out, thankfully, when she arrived at her house. She was so tired of posturing and she wasn't in the mood to be addressed as "Thane" at the moment. Taking a moment to enjoy the peace she ran upstairs and pulled out her favorite guilty pleasure from her chest, settling against the furs on her bed to read the second installment of "The Lusty Argonian Maid."
When the dark haired warrior returned to Breezehome it was to find her Thane snoring softly with a book half-covering her chiseled features. Lydia stifled a laugh when she caught sight of the title as she laid the book on the end table before removed the Dragonborn's boots and pulling one of the furs over her prone form. With another soft chuckle the huscurl blew out the candles and closed the bedroom door as she crossed into her own room for the night.
A/N: "Arrow to the knee" reference is based off the theory that some believe it is actually a euphemism for getting married. "Took an arrow to the knee" = got married, can't fight anymore. Of course, I don't buy it, but it was entertaining so I included it.