(AN: I usually don't do one-shots, but i felt like i needed to for this particular character. She dies in the second act of the great tapestry of my Elder Scrolls story and, while i did give her quite a bit of character development, she didn't have much in the way of adventures. I wanted to have the Dragonborn Eirik be sort of a wandering hero, earning his keep by his sword and sending his money back home, appearing in various stories just as how Kratos seemed to be appearing everywhere outside of God of War. But nobody likes him and so far, his sidekick now would be Rayya, whom also nobody likes.)
(So i felt that Lydia needed a good send-off, one that felt very...viking. And I was wrestling with several other ideas, like her introduction to Eirik, a few of her adventures in Balgruuf's court, several things like that. And then, after listening to some good viking metal, i thought i'd give her a good ending, one that any honorable Nord could deserve. Rated T because I'm not sure: its a one-shot about death and the afterlife, doesn't seem very K or K+ to me, but it's also not as explicit or vulgar-worded as the usual fics, so it will be my first Skyrim fic that isn't rated M. Enjoy!)
Lydia's eyes opened. The last thing she remembered was a blinding light, then burning and then her world erupted into pain. She could hear her beloved thane Eirik the Dragonborn trying feebly to save her, then she could hear no more. Whether the blow kept her from closing her eyes, or whether she refused to close them, so that the last thing she might see was her thane, alive and well, she could not answer well. Because after that, her world was lost in darkness.
Her eyes opened upon a familiar sight, a wide valley flanked with two great stone statues of ancient men with long beards and hoods over their faces. There was no mist or darkness, only a bright light emanating from the farthest end of the valley. She had remembered walking this dreadful path before, but now it was her road to travel. There was no going back now. Whatever had happened to her during the Siege of Solitude meant nothing anymore: that life was long gone and beyond reach.
Lydia, come.
The voice was vaguely familiar, and seemed to come from the light. Warily, she rose to her feet, realizing that she was whole and yet not entirely whole either. The aches and pains that she once bore were gone, and while she did have a form that resembled her old body, it seemed to shimmer and glisten slightly.
Once again the voice called her onward. Now standing, she began to make her way down the stone dais and into the valley. There was no darkness nor roar of the dragon, only a stillness and calm unlike anything she had ever known. Only the sound of her boots upon the ground was heard through the gentle wind, which carried the whisper, beckoning her onward. Lydia heeded the whispers and walked on forward, never looking back. Back she could not go, there was nothing behind, only forward. Through the valley she passed, seeing a great throng of men and women gathered about the valley's wide expanse. They also waited their turn, but she was being called specifically. Those beyond wanted her to enter the Hall of Valor immediately.
Come, Lydia. You're almost home.
Presently, she came to the lowest part of the valley, just beyond where the great wyrm had fallen. She still remembered that long, awful fight. Death seemed to be everywhere, but she had a purpose then: Eirik needed her at his side. Now she felt sorrowful that she was not where she should be, at Eirik's side. Here she halted, as fear took hold. But presently she saw one sitting upon a rock, one whom she had seen before, a trusted ally through many battles and hardships.
"Well met, kinswoman," Galmar greeted. "I see you also have joined our grim gathering in the land of the dead."
"Master Stone-Fist," Lydia returned. "You haven't gone up yet?"
"Nay," Galmar shook his old head. "They tell me that so many kinsmen and women have fallen, that we must wait upon the gods to give us their blessing."
"Do you hear the voice?" she asked.
Galmar shook his head. "I hear no voice, but there have been others who have heard a voice as well. What does it say, huscarl?"
"It's calling me," Lydia replied, looking towards the shining light. She saw that Galmar's face lightened.
"They want you to join them," he said. "You should be proud. No milk-drinker would be called to the Hall of Shor. You've earned the right to be here just as the rest of those who have gone on before us. Do not keep the gods waiting."
Lydia nodded, thankful that she had heard these few words. It was all she needed. Whatever had happened before was in the past. Now the gods wanted her. Sovngarde awaited and she was showing herself fearful and unworthy by lingering. It was therefore with eager steps that she ran up the steadily sloping valley, bounding over the babbling brook, and made her way at last to the stone shelf at the mouth of the whale-bone bridge.
Here she halted, for she saw the bright light looming before her, now brighter than she could have possibly imagined. Yet in that bright light she saw three figures standing before the bridge, wreathed in light. Slowly and reverently she walked towards them.
"Welcome, huscarl," the familiar voice said warmly. Lydia knew that voice, for she had heard it before. Now the figures began to grow clearer and she saw the Tongues standing before her, even as they had when she and Eirik left after their mighty victory over Alduin: Felldir the Old, grey-headed and far-seeing, fel-handed Hakon the One-Eyed, and Gormlaith Golden-Hilt, her hair streaming with the golden light behind her.
"Long have we waited for your coming," Gormlaith continued. "Daughter of Skyrim."
"We promised to look for your final return," Hakon added. "And we were not disappointed."
"I..." Lydia stammered. "Return? You mean...I can go in?"
"Lord Tsun watched as you faced the World-Eater, undaunting, with your lord," Felldir stated. "He vouchsafed for you before the seat of Shor, and the Lord of Sovngarde has agreed: you have proven yourself worthy to enter here."
"Thank you," Lydia returned, her eyes glistening with tears.
"Take my hand, Lydia," Gormlaith said, holding out her hand. "Daughter of Skyrim, brave huscarl. Glory everlasting awaits you."
"For me?" she asked.
Gormlaith nodded and Lydia slowly walked towards the light, hand outstretched. Their hands touched slowly and once Lydia was within reach, Gormlaith seized her hand firmly and led her on the final passage. The whale-bone bridge was smooth, worn by the feet of many thousands upon ten thousands who had walked this path in ages long gone, and Lydia feared that she would fall. Once more her own words came to mind: what happened if she fell off the bridge? Was there a death after death? If so, where did that lead?
But Gormlaith's strong grip would not suffer her to fall. She led from in front, Hakon stood at her left and Felldir behind, bringing up the rear. Surrounded by heroes, Lydia felt invincible. They knew her and her great deeds, she did not need to posture before them: they loved her and they would not let her fall.
On and on they walked, the whale-bone bridge seeming to stretch for a lifetime. Yet slowly the bright light became more and more apparent: it was the glow emanating from the open doors of the Hall of Shor. When Eirik had passed this way while yet alive, Lydia, who watched from afar, saw him walk into the light between the doors and disappear. He came out again, but rarely spoke of the great things he had witnessed therein, even to her. Now she would be going into the light just as he had done.
At last they came to the landing at the end of the whale-bone bridge, just before the giant gates of the Hall of Valor. Here they halted and Gormlaith's hand, strong and sturdy like the bones of the earth, released Lydia's palm.
"Go on, now," Gormlaith said to Lydia, speaking proudly as if to a beloved daughter. "Step into the light and claim immortality. Your ancestors are waiting, the gods are waiting."
Lydia nodded, no longer afraid as she stepped forward into the light. With each step it became brighter and brighter, until it seemed as though there was nothing else beyond the doors except for light. When at last she felt stone underfoot and the light seemed as though it could become no brighter, she saw a great shadow, standing upright in the form of a man. It seemed to be the source of the light, but no light fell upon it.
"Welcome, honored child of man," said Shor. "Enter into the glorious revelry prepared for you and receive the praise of the praise-worthy."
The light faded, but the high-ceiling hall was still illuminated. Suddenly she saw many faces standing before her, chanting her name as she walked now among the immortals. Tallest among them was the one whose likeness she had seen fight with Eirik in the streets of Solitude; Ysgramor, the greatest of the Nord heroes of old.
"Well met, daughter of Skyrim," Ysgramor's deep, bear-like voice grumbled. "You are most welcome here. Come, stand not in the doorway. Enter in and meet those who have waited long for your coming to this blessed hall."
Lydia nodded, then walked into the hall proper, with the Tongues bringing up the rear behind her. After mighty Ysgramor she saw one whom she had known mostly as a name, a name for whom her lord and thane fought.
"Huscarl," Ulfric greeted, a smile on his face. "You will find welcome well-earned in this great hall of heroes. Where is your master, Eirik the Dragonborn?"
"He lives still," she replied.
"Then may he defend Skyrim for all of us," Ulfric mused ruefully. "But now, let us celebrate another brave fallen has come to join our ranks!"
More cheers rose and Lydia continued her way through the throng of the honored dead, ancestors as far back as the beginning of the Nord race. While she was still enthralled with such wonder, greater wonder arose as two figures approached her from out of the throng. One was silver-haired, slightly round but still bore arms that had seen warfare in his youth and his elder years. The other was tall, with her long hair as fair as the golden light of Shor, and eyes as blue as Lake Ilinalta.
"Lydia!" the woman greeted, her voice twinged with the old Nordic voice, brought down from Atmora and still present in some of the sons and daughters of Skyrim in these latter days. "Glad I am to finally meet you. I am Signy, and this is my husband Bjorn. The Dragonborn, Eirik, who you have served so faithfully, is our son."
Lydia smiled, and both Signy and Bjorn smiled as they threw their arms around her shoulders in a warm and sturdy embrace. She could feel tears streaming down her eyes; she no longer cared.
"Long have we watched over our son from this great hall," Bjorn said. "He has found his path again, but treads it perilously."
"We are so very grateful to you, Lydia huscarl," Signy added. "For taking care of our son. For that, your family and ours shall eat at the same table."
"But I have no family," Lydia mused for a moment.
"No, child," Bjorn shook his head. "You are part of our family. And that is no shame. We have Bram the Red, Sigurd the Old, Ingvar the Mighty and my own father Thore to our name! All of them will be honored to have you with us."
"And let us not forget Anhilde," Signy stated. "She sits now with her old traveling friend Vilja, reliving the glory days of their time with the Hero of Kvatch."
"I didn't know Eirik had such great ancestors!" Lydia exclaimed. Even in Whiterun, the tales of Ingvar the Mighty, who drove back the Reachmen in the early decades of the Fourth Era and, standing at eight feet tall, pushed ashore the drekkar that carried those who would rebuild Thirsk Hall on Solstheim after the tragedy of the Red Year.
"And," Signy laughed. "You forget..."
"Should we tell her?" Bjorn suggested.
"I think we should show her," Signy divined.
"Show me what?" Lydia laughed, a smile splitting her face apart.
With one hand on each shoulder, Bjorn and Signy led Lydia through the hall, to the largest table present. At the center of the table, facing the doors of the hall, there was a chair that stood empty save for a wheel of endless light which hovered upon it. They led Lydia over towards the table, where one empty seat sat flanked by two people, a man and woman, with dark hair.
"Ma, Pa!" Lydia exclaimed, running towards her mother and father and wrapping her arms around them.
It was with great happiness and tears of joy that Maks Lindsson and Lykka Karlsdottir embraced their daughter again. It had been a long time since she held them or since they held her, and she had missed them every day in the court of Balgruuf, or when Eirik waxed about his life before the dragon crisis on their way to Falkreath in another life. They now had all the time they could ever ask for to listen to her stories as she spoke them or as others sang them back to them.
Maks and Lykka then showed their daughter the seat they had been guarding. Written upon the back in ancient Nord runes which, Lydia realized she could read, had her name: Lydia Maksdottir, greatest of the huscarls. With her mother and father at her right and left hand and Signy and Bjorn seated across from them along with the many illustrious names of Eirik's family, Lydia smiled as she seated herself in the seat that bore her name at the table of Shor: her trials spent, her burdens cast off. All of eternity was in front of her.
(AN: How was that? I tried not to directly quote "Death and Resurrection of a Northern Son", keep this one-shot from being too cheesy. This also featured the first appearance of Signy Grelmodsdottir, wife of Bjorn Thoresson and mother of Eirik the Dragonborn. We also have both of Lydia's parents appearing, and the much derided hero of Skyrim. But hey, all's well that ends better, eh? [also yes, i don't own the Elder Scrolls or any of its related characters, places or lore. That belongs to Bethesda])
(You know, not even half of what i've written in the back-story for this Skyrim fanon of mine gets on the page, which is kind of a bummer. So yeah, i decided to put a little bit of Eirik's ancestry here as well. But, of course, you'll notice that Lydia's chair does not say "Eirik's huscarl" or "Huscarl of the Dragonborn", only "greatest of the huscarls". Her place in Sovngarde was earned by her actions, not by her association with someone else. I hope that this will be an adequate send-off for such a beloved character. [with more than a few tongue-in-cheek moments as well with the "stand not in the doorway"]. I will definitely miss her)